


There She Goes

by novelice33



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, magical au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 82,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novelice33/pseuds/novelice33
Summary: What happens when Mildred Pentangle and Ethel Hardbroom meet at Camp Walden for girls? A Hicsqueak Parent Trap AU.---Pippa gingerly picked up the picture by her bedside. She remembered the day so vividly. Her hand had fidgeted nervously around the ring box in her pocket all evening, returning to it time and again just to reassure herself it was still there. Hecate had chalked up her distraction to fears about motion sickness on their first night on the Queen Elizabeth 2 ocean liner, and the usually quiet brunette had taken to describing all the activities aboard ship that they could explore over the week to preoccupy her mind. She could still remember the feeling of Hecate tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand as they stood along the deck of the ship, a light chill in the air drawing their bodies closer together as gold and red fireworks sparkled before them, and wondering whether Hecate could hear her heart thrumming with excitement in her chest.Glancing around the dark room, emptied of Hecate’s things, her family torn apart, Pippa wondered where it had all gone wrong.
Relationships: Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch)
Comments: 146
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At WisCONline 2020, one panelist highlighted the importance of fiction to "imagine the world we want to see." This story is part of that ongoing intention for me. 
> 
> With that said, I've also been inspired by hihoplastic and ForForever19 to leverage A03 as a platform to bring about the change that we want to see now. 
> 
> So if anyone is looking for a simple way to contribute to Black Lives Matter and to celebrate Pride Month in an ongoing effort for transformative social change, equity, and justice, please see here for two links to stream to donate:  
> For Black Lives Matter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKo8OrBdLz8  
> For the Trevor Project for LGBTQ+ youth and young adults in crisis: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3z9emcAYbA
> 
> And please remember to vote!

Pippa gingerly picked up the picture by her bedside. She remembered the day so vividly. Her hand had fidgeted nervously around the ring box in her pocket all evening, returning to it time and again just to reassure herself it was still there. Hecate had chalked up her distraction to fears about motion sickness on their first night on the Queen Elizabeth 2 ocean liner, and the usually quiet brunette had taken to describing all the activities aboard ship that they could explore over the week to preoccupy her mind. She could still remember the feeling of Hecate tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand as they stood along the deck of the ship, a light chill in the air drawing their bodies closer together as gold and red fireworks sparkled before them, and wondering whether Hecate could hear her heart thrumming with excitement in her chest.

After dinner, Pippa had tremblingly taken Hecate’s hands in her own. Hecate had looked so beautiful that night, her thick brown hair pulled back and falling gently along her shoulders, her face carefree and attentive as Pippa began to stumble over her words. It was there that Pippa had promised Hecate a lifetime of love and had asked her to begin a family together, like they had dreamed of for years, and when Hecate had nodded, her eyes crinkling with joy, Pippa had burst out of her seat to take her in her arms. And that was how they were found by their dear friends, Ada and Ollie, who had come out from behind their hidden corner to join in their celebrations. Ada had captured the moment that night in two pictures that they had framed and placed on either side of their bed, one of Pippa gazing adoringly at a blushing Hecate before she had kissed her and the second of the two of them beaming up at the camera. Hecate had taken the second, but Pippa had always preferred the candor of the first, where she had only been aware of Hecate and filled with such peace.

Glancing around the dark room, emptied of Hecate’s things, her family torn apart, Pippa wondered where it had all gone wrong.

\-----------

**_8 years later_ **

Camp Walden for girls. Mildred was finally here at the camp that she had heard so much about from her mum. Breathing in the fresh air and the exhilaration of freedom at her first summer away from home, Mildred grinned at the thought that here, she could be herself without the pressure of being the headmistress’s daughter, just like anyone else. Surrounded by girls disembarking from their brooms, some greeting old friends and others standing around in baffled anticipation, Mildred basked in the thrill of anonymity. Now, where was her bag? Her eyes alighted on her yellow duffel, just as several other levitating bags dropped on top of it, burying it from view. Digging through the pile and grabbing on the strap, she tugged and tugged to no avail. Fidgeting with her braids, Mildred was eyeing the adversarial pile and biting her lip in thought when she saw a black girl her age confidently pull her bag from the heap.

“Hey!” Mildred called out to the girl. “Would you mind giving me a hand with my duffel? It’s the yellow one buried way in there.”

“Sure, no problem,” the girl agreed as she yanked the bag out with ease. At Mildred’s stare, she gave a nonchalant shrug. “I travel a lot. This happens all the time.” Spotting the tag on Mildred’s bag, the girl suddenly gave a double take. “Pentangle? Are you related to Pippa Pentangle of Pentangle’s Academy?”

And there went her anonymity. She supposed it was sweet while it lasted. With a sigh, Mildred responded, “Yeah, she’s my mum.”

“That’s so cool! Is she as glamorous as she seems? I feel like I see her picture everywhere.”

“I guess,” Mildred conceded, “but at home, she’s just like … a normal mum.”

“I’m Enid, by the way,” the girl offered, “And I’m going to be starting at Pentangle’s in the fall, if I get in that is.”

“Mildred, although everyone calls me, ‘Millie.’ And I’m sure you’ll get in. Mum’s pretty great about giving everyone a chance. Could you do me a favor though?”

“Depends what it is,” Enid hedged.

“I don’t want everyone to know about my mum, so could you sort of… keep it a secret?”

Enid smiled knowingly, “It gets weird, huh, having a famous mum?”

“You have no idea,” Mildred confided.

With a shrug, Enid stuck out a hand, “Your secret’s safe with me, Millie Pentangle.”

Up ahead, girls were beginning to line up by age to be sorted into cabins, handed red and purple camp shirts respectively, and under the sign for 11-12-year-olds, Mildred saw a counselor with a megaphone and whistle in hand calling out, “Nightshade!”

At the sound of the name, Enid started, “Whoops, that’s me,” and started jogging towards the line.

Quickly following behind, Mildred asked, “Wait, Enid Nightshade as in Narcissus and Nathaniel Nightshade?”

With a backward glance, Enid gave her a wink, “Friends, not fans, right?” as a giddy Mildred chased after her. She was loving camp already.

\-----------

“Ada, we’re going to be late!” Ethel called from the bottom of the stairs, her ponytail bouncing with equal parts anxiety and excitement. She had been up since seven that morning and could hardly wait to get in the air. Instead of her godmother though, she saw her mother at the top of the stairs. Long brown hair tied up in a bun, her mother was dressed for foraging, sporting her usual black overalls complete with matching galoshes. Guided by practicality more than fashion, her mother’s color palette was nothing if not predictable, her only vanity a thin silver necklace, which peeked out from beneath the top of her black shirt.

Her mother smiled down at her. “Try to relax, honey. Ada will be here any minute, and you know it’s only a short broomstick ride away. In fact, if you hadn’t packed so many books, you might have even been able to transfer.”

“Well, it’s a whole eight weeks, mother. I don’t want to get behind,” Ethel explained.

“As long as you also make time to have fun. I’m so sorry I can’t go with you this morning, but it’s the start of the summer and I really need to make sure I stock up when everything’s at its most potent.”

“I know, mother. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’m practically a teenager,” Ethel declared as she gave her mother a hug goodbye, and if it was a little longer and a little tighter than usual, her mother thankfully pretended not to notice.

They were soon interrupted by the bright voice of one Ada Cackle. The older witch materialized in the foyer, draped in her traveling cloak and hat with broomstick in hand. “I’m ready when you are, Ethel. Camp Walden, here we come!”

\-----------

Ethel had dreamed about coming to Camp Walden ever since she had first stumbled upon the picture of her mum in a Camp Walden t-shirt in the attic. She had been looking through her mother’s old things amidst some obligatory spring cleaning, and she had found it lying inside a dusty box in the corner, hidden behind stacks of outdated potions books and fancy dresses her mother had not bothered to wear in years. The wooden box had been filled with random keepsakes of her mother’s … from her mum. Pippa Pentangle. Ethel could not even really remember her mum. According to Ada, she had just barely turned three when her mothers had separated, and after she had caught her mother crying in bed the last time she had mentioned her mum, Ethel had stopped asking altogether. Instead, she had resigned herself to snatching glimpses of her mum on magazine covers whenever they were at the grocery store and checking out her books on modern magic from the library whenever her mother was not with her. She was able to learn a little about her mum from Ada, who was her mother’s best friend from university, but Ethel got the sense that even her godmother was uncomfortable talking about her mum, like it was some secret.

Opening the lid, she had been mesmerized by a treasure trove of pictures, her mum as a young girl riding a small white bicycle with pink streamers, her mum posing with her school class, her mothers smiling into a camera on some sort of ship called the QE2, and her mum laughing with friends at Camp Walden for girls just a few years older than her. It had been the first time she had seen pictures of her mum away from the flashing bulbs of photographers and beyond the tiny square of a book flap, and she had stayed up in the attic for hours until her mother had called her down to dinner. Ethel had even found a stray snapshot of her mum playing with her and another toddler her age in the grass, arms outstretched as the two girls stumbled towards her. Later that night, she had snuck back up to retrieve the box of mementos, carefully dusting every item and hiding the box away in the back of her closet as one of her most prized possessions. And from that day on, Ethel had made it her goal to plant little seeds about attending a summer sleepaway camp, maybe when she was eleven, the youngest age Camp Walden accepted, until her mother had taken the hint.

Now, she was finally here, and Ethel wanted to explore everything. She had signed up for as many activities as she could from art to modern chanting to fencing, field trips through the forest to gather potions ingredients, and broomstick water-skiing. Ethel loved anything related to flying. It was the time she felt most free, and broomstick waterskiing was her absolute favorite new hobby, even if she had not quite mastered it yet.

Growing up an only child, she had worried that she would not get along with the other girls in her bunk, but her bunkmates, Felicity Foxglove and Sapphire Hailstone, were surprisingly easy to befriend. Felicity could talk about anything and everything. Her parents sent her the latest magazines of Witch Weekly, which she would generously share with Ethel anytime she asked, and she had also joined the camp newsletter. As the Walden Bugle’s resident advice columnist, Felicity was always on the lookout for new stories, interviewing people all over camp and dragging Ethel and Sapphire along for the ride. Sapphire was a little quieter and liked to tramp through the forest almost as much as Ethel did. They could occupy whole afternoons swapping tips for how to harvest silky forklet moss or sharing strategies about the best growing conditions for peonies and be ready to do it all again the next day. Sapphire’s mother was a botanist, and her childhood sounded a lot like Ethel’s own, spending every summer and winter solstice scavenging in the woods and camping under the moonlight.

While her days were filled with adventures, every evening after dinner, Ethel would steal away to the empty camp library to curl up in a lumpy armchair with another book of her mum’s – Camp Walden seemed to own everything she had ever published – or to flip through old camp books from when her mum was here in her own little game of I Spy. She would pore over images of her mum canoeing on Moose Lake or swimming with the other girls, performing in a broomstick waterskiing competition, or singing in the end of summer talent show and imagine what she was like. Other nights, she would walk along the hall of the darkened dining room, where past camp pictures were hung, to stand by the frames from the summers of 1984, 1985, 1986, 1987, and 1988 until the evening bell rang to wash up before lights out.


	2. Chapter 2

Mildred’s favorite activity by far was art, and if she was not flying around the Camp Walden obstacle course with her bunkmates, Enid and Maud Spellbody, in preparation for the annual summer field day between the red and purple team cabins, she was likely in her smock at the studio. The art counselor, Miss Mould, pretty much gave them free reign to use whatever mediums they wanted, to create whatever they wanted. She even taught them different spells to enchant their artwork, and Mildred took advantage of the creative liberty to charm her paintings so that the stars twinkled and the grass blew in the breeze, to decorate her bunk with never-melting ice figurines, and to fashion a coffee mug that chirped, “I love you, mum,” anytime someone drank from it. She knew her mum would be tickled by it when she got home and would immediately add it to her collection of what she called, “Millie’s masterpieces.”

Today, Mildred had decided to sculpt a dragon out of clay. She had given it a spiky tail, curved claws, scales, and painted it pink with purple polka dots just for fun. Miss Mould had given a short lesson on temporarily animating sculptures that morning, so the room was already looking like quite the zoo. All around her were turtles crawling on tables, broomsticks zipping through the air, familiars lazily waving their tails and purring, and even little people walking around and engaging in conversations with their creators. Mildred had just put the finishing touches on her dragon and was ready to bring it to life. Reading the incantation off her notes and adding a wisp of witch’s breath, she watched her little dragon soar into the air and fly around the room.

Ecstatic, she tugged on Enid’s sleeve to pull her attention away from her own sculpture, a spaceship better resembling a block of cheese, which seemed confused as to what to do once animated. It sputtered up a few inches off the tabletop before landing back down with a splat. To her left, Maud was having much better luck. Placing her dolphin in a clear basin of water, she clapped her hands in delight as the dolphin bobbed through the water, emitting a gleeful whistle and diving back into the water with a light splash.

“Look, Enid!” Mildred had just uttered the words when she saw her little pink and purple dragon open its mouth to let out a small puff of fire, right by a row of paintings from earlier that week. With a shout, a blond girl her own age suddenly shot out of her seat by the window, sprinting frantically over to the first painting, a careful rendering of the camp’s lake, featuring a pair of broomstick waterskiers mid-routine, to attempt to extinguish the flame with a spell. With Miss Mould’s help, the fire was contained within a matter of minutes, and almost all the pictures were salvaged, save a bit of charring on the corner of the blond girl’s painting.

But when Mildred opened her mouth to apologize, the girl whipped around to face her with anger in her eyes. “What did you do?” she snarled.

“I-I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know it would do that,” Mildred explained.

“It’s a dragon, isn’t it? What did you think would happen?” the furious girl snapped back. “Miss Mould said that the spell would ‘imbue the sculpture with all of the intrinsic properties of the intended subject,’ or weren’t you listening?”

Beside her, a friend rested a sympathetic hand on the blond girl’s shoulder, murmuring, “It was an accident, Ethel.”

“I was just trying to make it fly,” Mildred sheepishly trailed off.

With another glare, Ethel whirled around to grab her painting off the easel and stormed out of the room with it protectively cradled in her arms.

Her friend, whom Mildred recognized as part of the Walden Bugle, Felicity, she thought, gave Mildred a quick shrug in apology, “Sorry about that. Ethel’s not usually like this. She can just be a little touchy sometimes. The painting was of her mum, and she doesn’t get to see her much….”

After watching Felicity run off in search of her friend, Mildred gently captured her dragon with the help of Enid and Maud, making sure to put on the gloves from the kiln and to approach it from behind before undoing the spell with a sigh. She felt terrible. She could only think about how upset she would have been if her mother’s picture was burned, and she wondered what she could do to make it right.

\-----------

At breakfast the next morning, Mildred was still wracking her brain. She glanced surreptitiously over at Ethel, sitting a few tables away, and when the blond caught her staring, she scowled in response before turning her back on the other girl.

“Millie, it was an accident,” Maud assured in a comforting tone.

“And that Ethel girl totally blew it out of proportion anyway,” Enid chimed in with a defensive scoff.

“I want to do something nice to make it up to her. Be her friend, you know,” Mildred thought out loud.

Scrunching up her face with skepticism, Enid said, “Friends? With her?”

Ever the diplomat, Maud simply shrugged, “It might work. You could always try, Millie.”

If only she knew Ethel, she was sure she could think of something that would help her feel better.

Straightening up with a bright smile, Mildred exclaimed, “I’ve got an idea.”

\-----------

The girl, Mildred she had learned was her name, was everywhere, and Ethel could not stand her. All day, she had been trailing her around, wreaking havoc.

In fencing, she and her ragtag friends had stumbled into the cordoned off area, where Ethel and Sapphire had been putting on their fencing uniforms, and Mildred had had the audacity to ask Ethel to be her fencing partner. As if she would willingly subject herself to Mildred’s company. The girl was a menace, who could barely manage a simple animation spell without burning down the studio. Who knew what she would do with a sword in hand? Nearby, Felicity was practicing in their usual spot, slashing away with her epee in the air, and Ethel had stalked off to join her. As Ethel had donned her mask and readied her stance, waiting for Miss Drill’s usual “Allez!” to start, she could hear Mildred and her friend Enid obnoxiously shouting out, “En-garde, En-garde” to each other behind her. She had tried her best to ignore them, but halfway through her second bout with Sapphire, Ethel had felt a body crash into her from behind. Knocked clean off her feet, Ethel had turned around with a glare for the offending camper, only to be met with an apologetic shrug from a nervous Mildred. Her pristine white uniform had been covered in dirt the rest of the hour. She could still hear Miss Drill’s tsks of reproof in her head. 

She had had a brief reprieve during broomstick water-skiing, thank goodness, when Mildred disappeared after the first few minutes, but during scavenging, Ethel had felt her ears ringing the entire time. She could have sworn she heard Mildred and her friends tromping around nearby, but whenever she had looked around, the threesome was nowhere to be found. She had been so skittish that Ethel had almost stumbled into a patch of poisonous monkshood, at which point even soft-spoken Sapphire had looked at her with bewildered concern.

Then in modern chanting, Ethel had performed her first solo for Miss Bat, enchanting vines of blue and lavender wisteria to interweave the trellis of the gazebo in a flourishing garden. She had been perfecting it all week, and Miss Bat had effusively praised, “Marvelous, Ethel! You’re a natural chantsmith.” Just like her mum, she had thought, taking a little bow and skipping off the makeshift podium in the center of the gazebo when she saw the dreaded girl pass by. Miss Bat had been meticulously inspecting the wisteria blooms, “Very impressive. Exquisite attention to detail. Well done, Eth---” when her attention had been captured by the passing girl. Lighting up, Ethel all but forgotten, Miss Bat had exclaimed, “Mildred! Won’t you join us for Modern Chanting this afternoon? I have yet to hear your beautiful voice, dear girl.”

With a haphazard wave to the camp director, Mildred’s voice had pitched uncharacteristically as she squeaked, “Uh… I can’t today, Miss Bat. Miss … Mould’s expecting me in the studio” before running off after her friends.

No longer paying Ethel any mind, Miss Bat had muttered to herself, “Ah, a pity. Her mother is one of the best modern chantsmiths I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching,” and Ethel had stewed all afternoon. No matter how hard she tried, legacies seemed to have a leg up, and apparently, Mildred’s mother was some amazing modern chantsmith. That night, Ethel found herself curled up in her usual chair in the camp library, reading through some of her favorite passages in her mum’s _Introduction to Modern Chanting_. She thought she could almost hear her mum’s voice if she read her words enough and imagined what it might be like to actually meet her in person. If only she could build up the courage to ask her mother to send her to Pentangle’s Academy in the fall. Her mother had attended Miss Amethyst’s Academy, “a highly respectable witching institution” she would say, but Ethel had always had her heart set on Pentangle’s. _If only._

Ethel was trudging back to her cabin before lights out when she saw a group of campers her age gathered at the outdoor picnic tables, fairy lights strewn across the trees. From the looks of the red t-shirts, it seemed the red team cabins were having some sort of party. Curious, Ethel peeked closer and saw none other than Mildred sitting in the center of the group, a tray full of pink cupcakes alit with sparkling candles arrayed in front of her. Ethel caught the last few bars of an enthusiastic, if off-key, rendition of “Happy Birthday” as Miss Bat affectionately patted the embarrassed girl’s shoulder and wished her a celebratory evening before heading back towards the staff quarters. Brushing off a pique of jealousy, Ethel rolled her eyes at the elaborate display.

Her own birthday had passed just a few weeks ago, and she and Mother and Ada had had a small celebration at home like they did each year, just the three of them. They had spent the day baking her favorite sweets, one of the few days of the year that Ethel could eat as many sweets as she liked and the only day of the year that her mother allowed a little bit of chaos to enter the otherwise pristine space. The kitchen had been warm from the oven, the air filled with the delicious scent of vanilla, lemon, and so much chocolate. Her mother had had a smudge of flour across her cheek as she offered Ethel a pink-frosted glazed donut, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Her mother was a gifted baker, her potion-making skills translating well to the tasty medium, but she gave special attention to these donuts, a treat she reserved for Ethel’s birthday and one that always brought tears to her eyes. Happy tears, she would say, as she brushed them away with a floury hand. Mother would only ever indulge in one, but Ada and Ethel had no such restraint. And by morning, the plate would be empty save a few shavings of glaze.

Where her mother brought precision to the baking process, recreating Ethel’s favorites every year, Ada brought a playful flair, experimenting with new recipes, adding orange peels here or lavender there, a dash of cinnamon, with delightful and disastrous results. She remembered the year when Ada had learned of an Ordinary invention called a “microwave” that could replace an oven. The oatmeal glop had failed to coalesce into anything resembling a cookie, and her mother had barely concealed a grin before relegating the shiny contraption to the pantry with a wave of her hand and whipping up her own batch of oatmeal cookies, chewy on the inside and baked to perfection with a slight outer crisp.

At night, after Ada flew home, Ethel and her mother had lain out on a blanket in their quiet backyard, and Ethel would listen to her mother tell her stories of the constellations, the Hardbroom versions, her mother would say in case she ever took a classics course. Ethel would fall asleep hearing about the graceless but kind flying horse that got into all sorts of funny scrapes; the priestess turned monster turned artist, who invented sunglasses and never lacked for material for her vast sculpture garden; the beautiful queen sentenced to hang upside down in the sky for her vanity, who got the last laugh when she became bored of sitting on her throne and began studying all the cultures of the world from a new perspective.

Raucous laughter jarred Ethel back to the present. It was just like Mildred to always be the center of attention, and with that thought, Ethel made to storm past the little gathering when she caught sight of gangly limbs scrambling from the table. Quickening her pace, Ethel hurried on towards her cabin, hoping to make a quick escape.

“Ethel!” Mildred called. With a sigh, Ethel stopped and reluctantly faced the other girl. One minute Mildred was walking towards her with a shy smile on her face, awkwardly holding out a pink frosted cupcake, and the next, Ethel saw the clumsy girl trip over an exposed tree root and pitch forward. Ethel felt the weight of the girl crash into her for the second time that day as a cream-covered cupcake smashed into her cheek. Ethel blinked with shock, wiping the glob of cake and frosting from her face.

“You are truly the worst witch,” Ethel sputtered before turning on her heel, Mildred’s pleas and the muffled laughter of the other girls falling on angrily deaf ears. If she had not quite despised the thoughtless girl before, she certainly did now. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride Month! 
> 
> In a season of bleak news, I found myself feeling uplifted by these four milestones from earlier this week for systemic change that value the humanity of all people so thought I'd share.
> 
> On Monday, 6/15/20, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the 1964 Civil Rights Act protects gay, lesbian, and transgender employees from discrimination based on sex. 
> 
> On Wednesday, 6/17/20, a federal judge in Maryland declared the U.S. State Department's policy denying citizenship to foreign-born children of LGBTQ+ citizen parents illegal and ruled in favor of the Kiviti family in their suit against the Trump Administration. Read more here: https://immigrationequality.org/adiel-roee-and-kessem-kiviti/
> 
> On Thursday, 6/18/20, the U.S. Supreme Court decided in favor of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrival (DACA) recipients and against the Trump administration's 2017 attempt to terminate the program.
> 
> On Friday, 6/19/20, more U.S. governmental and corporate agencies have made a point to recognize Juneteenth in a symbolic step towards meaningful racial equity for black communities.

Mildred had tried. She really had. It was not her fault that her attempts had gone over so poorly. Her mum often teased her, saying she had a heart of gold but a foot of lead. Mildred was not the most graceful witch, and it tended to get her into trouble.

Her brilliant idea had been a simple one. If she could only figure out what Ethel liked, she could do something nice for her. Simple. So she had convinced Maud and Enid to help her, going to the same activities, starting with fencing. It was just play sword-fighting, right? How hard could it be? She could not have been more wrong. First, Ethel had stuck her nose up at her when she asked to be partners. Then mid-way through class, Enid had advanced with a dramatic stab, and in Mildred’s attempt to knock the sword away, she had stumbled over her own feet and bowled over Ethel in the process, which had earned her another glare.

Following Ethel turned out to be no easy task. Her entire schedule seemed to be packed with one activity after another. Mildred almost felt like she was at school. After fencing, Ethel had headed to Moose Lake. Watching the short demonstration of elaborate broomstick techniques at high speed over water, Mildred had skedaddled right out of there. She may not be the brightest witch, but she knew her limits.

Ethel’s next stop had been the woods for scavenging, but by the time, Mildred, Enid, and Maud had run over to the woods, they had missed the start of the activity and had not been able to find the group at all. After wandering around in the woods for an hour with a now cranky Enid and tired Maud, Mildred had finally called it quits. When Ethel resurfaced later that afternoon at the gazebo for Modern Chanting, Mildred’s heart had sunk. She had promised herself at the beginning of camp to avoid Modern Chanting at all costs. Miss Bat was bound to let it slip that her mum was _the_ Pippa Pentangle, and Mildred already knew that she had not quite inherited her mum’s talent in the singing department. She took more after her tone-deaf Uncle Ollie in that regard, to her mum’s mild disappointment, and she had been only too happy to follow Maud’s lead to go swimming in the lake instead.

The whole day had been a complete bust, and she had been brainstorming her next steps before lights out when Miss Bat had surprised her with her mum’s delivery of cupcakes.

She should have known. Her mum would never forget her birthday. When Mildred had voiced her concerns over missing her birthday this year, her mum had merely shrugged with a playful smile pulling at the corners of her mouth and proposed to celebrate in advance. Every year, they would do something different. Sometimes the two of them would travel to different countries to learn about diverse cultures, which would inevitably include a food and dessert tour of local delicacies: freshly brewed chai tea in India, flaky butter pastries in France, a wriggling octopus tentacle in Seoul, the burst of flavor packed into a passion fruit-orange-guava shave ice in Hawaii. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. She may not have inherited her mum’s chanting abilities, but she had definitely inherited her mum’s sweet tooth.

Other years, her mum would invite her cottage school friends to a small party. Last year, they had celebrated at the children’s museum. Mildred had led her friends through mazes of garden labyrinths and weaving indoor jungle gyms before heading to the potions zone, where they could brew temporary potions to turn one’s hair blue, to jump super high, or to even become a frog for a few minutes, all appropriately supervised of course. The potions zone had been Mildred’s favorite part of the day, so she had begged her mum to teach her some simple potions at home. Despite a few mishaps, she had even mastered a few Form 1 spells for Selection Day, although what she really wanted to try was creating her own spells. Her mum had drawn the line at spell variations though, quietly musing that her mother would have had her hands full with her before sending Mildred off to Miss Lucinda Pinch, the potions mistress at Pentangle’s, to help her inventory the potions lab as a compromise. For the next few weeks, while her mum had retreated into her office to scribble away at her journals, Mildred had spent her afternoons with Aunt Lucy, who would tell her about all sorts of potions she set her first formers and regale her with stories of their most outlandish mistakes.

Her birthday this year had been no exception, and her mum had taken her whale watching. They had flown to Scotland early in the morning, cloaked with an invisibility spell. Hovering low over the water, they had made a game of spotting black fins and ginormous tails and the occasional spout of water. Mildred had even gotten to see a family of dolphins swimming by up close as they playfully clicked and whistled at one another and a pair of seals loafing lazily on the warm rocks.

The sugary sweetness of the cupcakes had wafted up from the box, and Mildred had opened it to reveal two dozen pink frosted cupcakes. Her mum did not often have time to bake with her busy schedule, but she did know all the best bakeries. The cupcakes drew the attention of other wandering campers, and before she knew it, Mildred was in the center of a group of hungry girls singing her happy birthday led by a very keen Miss Bat. In the distance, Mildred saw Ethel walking towards her cabin and had perked up at the prospect of salvaging an otherwise disastrous day. The blond-haired girl had stopped in wary anticipation as Mildred approached with her pink-frosted peace offering in hand, and then everything had gone horribly wrong. Again. Arms flailing, Mildred had seen Ethel’s eyes widen in alarm as she collided into the other girl, cupcake-first. The whole debacle had earned her another glare as Ethel had furiously stomped away.

That had been two days ago, and here she was on the receiving end of that now familiar glare once more. Well, she had done her best. If Ethel did not want to forgive her, that was her choice. Mildred was tired of groveling. It was the last event of the annual summer field day at Camp Walden between the red and purple team cabins: the broomstick race, and as luck would have it, Ethel was the flyer for the purple team. Marking the halfway point of the summer, the annual field day had kicked off in the morning with a camp-wide scavenger hunt. Mildred, Maud, and Enid had scrambled to check off as many items as possible on a long list of hard-to-find ingredients around camp amidst silly group challenges like creating a human pentagram, locating two witches with inverted birthdays, posing with a counselor’s familiar, designing a wearable witch’s hat out of toilet paper, and singing the camp song with a group made up of at least one girl from every year. After the scavenger hunt, the older and younger girls had been divided up by year for the rest of the events, including a canoe race – Mildred’s arm muscles were burning from this morning, and she could still hear the rhythmic call of the “hut-hut-ho” in her head –, the Fly High pole vault, and a witch ball tournament. Enid had crowed in circles around the court when she scored the winning goal, while Maud had happily warmed the bench after Mildred and Enid had cajoled her into coming out for moral support. So far, the purple and red teams were neck-and-neck, and everyone was gathered in excited anticipation for the broomstick race. Girls were waving the banners that they had made in the art studio earlier in the week, while others were belting out the team cheers the older girls had taught them all yesterday.

As she waited at the starting line, Mildred could see the trees swaying this way and that and could feel the wind pushing her back ever so slightly atop her broom.

“Storm’s a-brewing,” Miss Drill announced. Licking the tip of her index finger, she lifted it in the air with a thoughtful look. “We’ll have to make this quick, girls. I can feel rain.”

Beside her, Ethel gave the sports counselor a skeptical look. “Does that work?”

“I can feel it in my bones,” Miss Drill said with uncharacteristic solemnity. Cracking a smile, she then added, “And the weather witches may have said to expect rain this evening.”

Brandishing her trusty whistle, Miss Drill declared, “Well, Mildred, Ethel. Ethel, Mildred. This is going to be quite the competition. May the best flyer win!” At the whistle’s blast, the two girls sped off into the air.

Mildred knew this course like the back of her hand. She had been here nearly every day for the past four weeks, racing Enid and Maud and then anyone who would challenge her. While her feet may sometimes fail her, on a broomstick, excuse the pun, she soared. Zipping ahead of Ethel, Mildred leaned into her broom, and in the distance, she could hear Maud’s encouraging, “You can do it, Millie!” and Enid’s dramatic, “We believe in you!” Grinning to herself, Mildred thought it was nice to be just Millie here. At home, she was often surrounded by the older, smarter, faster students at Pentangle’s, beloved but also babied as the daughter of the headmistress. Even with her cottage school friends, it was sometimes hard to fit in. Living in a castle sort of made you stand out.

“She’s right behind you, Millie!” Enid shouted.

Shook out of her thoughts, Mildred blinked to see Ethel cut in front of her, deftly accelerating through a sharp turn. This girl was good. And arrogant, she thought, as Ethel tossed her a self-satisfied smirk over her shoulder before hurtling forward with another burst of speed. Mildred was going to enjoy wiping that smile off her face. Around the next bend, the course meandered through the nearby forest, and Mildred swiftly guided her broom through the maze of brambly limbs, agilely ducking low to avoid a branch and swerving right to veer past the trunk of a sturdy oak. Behind her, Mildred could hear Ethel cursing under her breath. A hundred meters ahead, the dappled foliage of the woods opened for the last and most treacherous leg of the course that wound through the rock face of the cliffs. Bursting through the final row of trees, Mildred was greeted by an overcast sky, large storm clouds converging and spitting a light drizzle of rain. With an ominous rumble overhead, Mildred headed into the valley of cliffs.

The sky was soon spilling fat droplets of rain. The towering rocks on either side seemed to trap the wind as it whipped her braids, and Mildred shivered in her light t-shirt as the cooling breeze from earlier chilled her skin. Zooming over a fallen log, Mildred carefully re-positioned her grip on the slippery handle of her broom. To her left, Mildred spied a streak of purple as Ethel determinedly bent low over her own broom. Seemingly undeterred by the rain, her purple t-shirt plastered against her skin and a few stray pine needles dotting her hair, Ethel rose higher and higher to escape the fierce gusts. Mildred watched with widened eyes as a snapped branch tore across the ravine, barely missing the other girl, and smashed into the rocks. 

“Ethel, you’re too high!” Mildred called out. Her voice muffled by the wind, Mildred drew closer to the tail of the girl’s broom. “Ethel!” Swerving haphazardly around another broken branch, she accidentally jostled the bristles, almost unseating the other girl.

“Stop bothering me!” Ethel growled stiffly as she tightened her grip and urged her broom onward.

“I know this course,” Mildred shouted against the wind. “We’re moving into Crookneck Corner! You have to slow down!”

Rolling her eyes, Ethel streaked ahead, blatantly ignoring the brunette. It was as if Mildred had never flown in a little rain before. What a city witch, she scoffed to herself. Well, Ethel was a country girl. Flying in the rain was just another Monday, and she knew that the sooner they got back to camp, the better.

As the blonde girl made to round Crookneck Corner at full speed, unheeding her warnings, Mildred desperately pushed forward to grab the tail of Ethel’s broom. Scarcely brushing the bristles with an outstretched hand, Mildred muttered a hasty deceleration charm, and when the broom glowed a light yellow, Mildred sighed with relief as the blond girl slid beyond her reach.

Ethel, on the other hand, started when she saw the brunette hovering dangerously close once more. “Get away from me,” Ethel shrieked, veering away from the other girl to create some much-needed distance between their two brooms. Mildred was in clear violation of basic broomstick safety protocols drilled into her mind by her over-careful mother from a young age. Perhaps mother was right, and the Craft truly was in decline. Returning her attention to the upcoming curve, Ethel leaned into the bend only to nearly crash into the towering wall of stone that suddenly appeared directly in her path. In her shock, a scream tore from her throat, and she intuitively jerked the handle of her broom upward, painfully scraping her right leg against rough edges that clawed mercilessly at her skin. Still wobbling precariously close to the cliff face and feeling the sting of rain droplets against her exposed cuts, Ethel honed in on the clearing ahead, where she could just make out the finish line in the distance, doing her best to ignore the worried queries of the hazardous brunette. As far as Ethel was concerned, Mildred had _caused_ the near-accident, and she was of half a mind to report the whole incident to Miss Drill as soon as she landed.

Ethel was weighing her options. On the one hand, Mildred was a horrid flyer and an absolute menace on a broom. On the other hand, the girl was a lumbering oaf on a good day. Whoever approved her participation surely shared the fault, and Ethel was honestly having second thoughts about Miss Drill’s judgement when she felt the tingle of a sloppily cast locomotor charm hit her back and was unceremoniously shunted from her broom.

Mildred winced as she watched the blonde girl tumble off her broom onto the grassy knoll a few kilometers short of the finish line. Her arm still raised from the locomotor spell she had instinctively cast, Mildred followed the most recent offending branch with her eyes as it landed with a thud to her right, having just missed splintering Ethel’s broom into kindling. Her heart raced as she ungracefully dismounted from her own broom, hands slick and feet sliding against the slippery blades of grass. Running towards Ethel, Mildred called out anxiously, “Are you okay, Ethel?” She felt like an echo, her voice hoarse from shouting the same question over and over the last few minutes of this harrowing afternoon. At least her feet were on solid ground. Mildred watched as the blond girl gingerly rose to her feet, uselessly dusting off her soaked and muddy clothes, her black bow hanging limply askew and her ponytail in disarray. At Mildred’s approach, Ethel turned on her heel, her face red with rage and humiliation, and proceeded to launch herself at the bewildered brunette. “You cheat!”


	4. Chapter 4

When the two girls were finally separated by Miss Drill, transferred by the counselor to the finishing line mid-scuffle, Ethel was soaked through, smudges of mud coating her cheeks and crusting in her disheveled hair. Her right leg was crisscrossed in deep scratches and trickling blood mixed with rainwater, and her left arm was sporting an angry bruise. Mildred fared little better, her long hair pulled viciously from its previously neat braids into a messy, damp nest of pine needles, blades of grass, and clumps of dirt, while her red t-shirt clung stickily to her torso, adhered by a combination of rain and sweat by the smell of it, and streaked with fresh grass stains. Greeted by a beleaguered Miss Drill and the quiet titters and amused hoots of their campmates, Ethel had endured an embarrassing dressing down in simmering silence, Miss Drill quick to cut off her and Mildred’s protestations. Their wounds had been tended to by skilled albeit exasperated medi-witches, who wondered aloud why neither of them had thought to turn around, stop and seek shelter, or at the very least fly straight over the cliffs to return to safety. They had tutted their disapproval as they disinfected and bandaged Ethel’s wounds and checked Mildred for any overlooked injuries. Besides some minor blisters and cuts, Mildred seemed to have emerged fairly unscathed. All for a bloody broomstick race, the medi-witches had muttered.

Now a dry Ethel stood shamefaced before Miss Bat and Miss Drill, hands clasped nervously in front of her, as they deliberated her fate. Ethel was horrified. She had never gotten in trouble before in her life. She could only imagine mother’s disappointment. Surely, they would not expel her from Camp Walden, after all the years she had waited and planned to get here!

“I expected more from you,” Miss Bat began, her mouth pursed in disapproval. “Mildred, what would your mother say? And Ethel, I’m shocked.”

“But Miss Bat,” Mildred started. “It wasn’t my fault. There were branches flying everywhere, and I was just trying to get Ethel out of the way.”

Ethel had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes again at Mildred’s plaintive voice, spewing the same flimsy lies, but she held her tongue.

The camp director held up a hand for silence. “Be that as it may, we have a zero-tolerance policy at Camp Walden on fighting. I am very sorely tempted to place you two in a friendship trap.”

Ethel’s eyes widened in trepidation, her mind whirling. She could hardly conceive how the two of them would ever free themselves of a friendship trap.

“Nothing but squabbling,” Miss Bat continued in admonishment. “Fighting each other instead of helping one another. What do you two have to say for yourselves?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Bat,” Ethel swiftly said. “It won’t happen again.”

“Sorry, Miss Bat,” Mildred echoed, hanging her head.

“Don’t be sorry. Be better,” Miss Bat replied with a pointed look at the two girls. “Now what am I to do with you?"

At these words, Miss Drill, who had remained stoic throughout much of the proceedings, leaned into Miss Bat’s side to whisper into her ear, a mischievous grin dancing momentarily across her features.

“Ah, that is quite the idea,” Miss Bat mused, turning towards the sports counselor with a mirrored smile. “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

And so it was that a short hour later, a freshly washed Ethel was trudging along a neglected forest path, her heavy duffle slung over her shoulder, staunchly ignoring Mildred shuffling beside her, as she followed Miss Bat and Miss Drill to a far-flung part of camp. Behind her, it seemed like all of Camp Walden had turned out to witness her humiliation, the news of her and Mildred’s fight spreading through camp as the field day events wound down from the day. She could hear one of the girls whistling the Camp Walden song, and soon, the long caravan of girls was whistling the familiar melody in unison. Turning, a surly Ethel caught the impish grin of Felicity at the head of the group, humming loudly along with everyone else. Beside her, a sheepish Sapphire, lips caught mid-whistle, merely shrugged in sympathy. Scowling at her so-called friends, Ethel marched on until the counselors stopped by a lone, forgotten cabin at the top of a hill.

“That’s enough of this nonsense,” Miss Drill chided through her megaphone. “Go back to your activities!”

As the crowd of girls dispersed with giggles and curious looks, Miss Bat led Ethel and Mildred up the wooden stairs into the musty but clean cabin. As Miss Drill opened the windows to invite in the late afternoon light and inspected the bare furnishings of the cabin, Ethel felt dread pool in her stomach.

Surveying the interior, Miss Bat gave a small nod of approval before turning sternly towards her young charges. “Now, I’ll gather you two girls don’t get along.”

“What are we doing here, Miss Bat?” Mildred asked tentatively.

“There are four weeks left at camp, and you’ll spend them all together. Bunk together. Eat together. Play together. Either you’ll find a way to get along, or you’ll punish yourselves far more than I ever could,” Miss Bat replied with a pleased smile. “Good day, girls,” she said, and without entertaining any further discussion, the camp director promptly proceeded to leave the cabin.

Ethel’s jaw dropped open. A whole month?!? She had expected a week at most. Ethel glanced beseechingly at Miss Drill as she made to follow the older woman. “For the rest of camp? You can’t be serious. Miss Drill?”

“Oh, we surely are,” Miss Drill responded smugly. “Good luck, girls,” and with those final words of encouragement, she closed the door behind her with a snick.

\-----------

Ethel prided herself on her composure, but here she was not even twenty-four hours into Miss Bat’s cruel and unusual punishment and already feeling nearly at her wit’s end. For the remainder of the field day celebrations, Ethel and Mildred had been relegated to the “Isolation Table,” a corner table set aside for just them two. With only each other for company, they had sniped all through dinner until Ethel had finally folded her arms in fuming silence, tired of Mildred’s incessant justifications. Then, at night, Ethel had been hoping to find some solace in reading after a trying day. Mum’s books always made her feel better, however unpleasant the circumstances, and since they were so far from the prying eyes of camp, she had figured she could bend the rule around lights out this once. Of course, Mildred had had other plans, grumbling about how she needed her sleep. The two had engaged in a magical tug-of-war all night, the lights of the cabin flickering on and off, as Ethel and Mildred exchanged illumination and de-lumination spells, among other cross words. Reading had soon become impossible, but Ethel had still found comfort in her mum’s pictures, the precious box of keepsakes clutched close to her chest in a semblance of privacy.

As darkness fell upon the cabin for the umpteenth time, Ethel carelessly flicked her wrist to return light to the cabin. A frustrated groan rose from the far side of the room as Mildred shielded her eyes with her pillow, and Ethel’s mouth upturned in a satisfied smile. She could do this all night.

Breakfast the next morning was similarly tense, and it did not help that Felicity and Sapphire had swung by their table with a copy of the Walden Bugle. Felicity dropped the paper on the table with a flourish, and Ethel gawped at the front page. Staring up at her, amidst other photos of yesterday’s events, was a picture of her own face, snarling at an annoyingly flabbergasted Mildred, while an exasperated Miss Drill had her hands on her hips and a whistle in her mouth.

“You know, they’re calling you two ‘Methel’ or ‘Ethred’? Which do you prefer?” Felicity teased with a too innocent smile.

“I can’t believe you did this!” Ethel balked.

“Oh, that wasn’t me,” Felicity denied with an easy laugh. “And what did you expect? This is big camp news. Now if you ever need any advice….” Felicity trailed off with a grin before being shooed away by a watchful Miss Drill. Sapphire scrunched her face in apology, squeezing Ethel’s hand in solidarity with a whisper to “Look at page 2” as she passed by. The second page of the short newsletter was covered in more pictures, including one of Ethel, Felicity, and Sapphire posing arm-in-arm in their purple Camp Walden t-shirts, proudly waving their homemade banners. She looked happy, Ethel admitted to herself, and she supposed that was a small consolation.

With the storm passing through, the rest of the morning had been spent in stifling silence, Mildred sketching cross-legged on her bed, while Ethel lay on her front, catching up on reading. The wind and rain battered mercilessly against the windows of the cabin as Ethel closed the most recent chapter of _Witchory Through the Ages_ and pulled _Elemental Spells: A Primer_ from her neat stack to brush up on her spell science fundamentals. Mother assured her she was well ahead of her peers – and Ethel knew mother was not one to flatter a bruised ego – but she did not want to leave anything to chance for the Selection Day exam. She had just started into the section on growth spells involving different variations of soil, sand, and stone when a sudden gust of wind overpowered the window flap by her bed. Cold rain sloshed over the windowsill, angrily spitting onto her crisply folded sheets, and uncontained swirls of wind, bursting into the room with an angry shriek, wildly whipped around pages of careful notes. Ethel hurried to salvage her things, sweeping books and notepads up into her arms and haphazardly piling them on her nearby trunk. Behind her, she heard Mildred let out a surprised yelp as she rushed over to help secure one corner of the window flap back into place. With Mildred holding down one side, Ethel quickly tied a knot to loop the other and released a breath of relief when it held.

Wiping her rain-covered arms on her shorts, Ethel sent the other girl a grateful look. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Mildred returned with a small shrug.

Ethel turned to inspect her rescued pile of books, glad to see that most of them were no worse for wear, and then crouched to collect the notes and pens tossed about the cabin floor with a sigh. Thankfully, the notes were color-coded by subject, although, she acknowledged, sorting through them would take some time.

“You sure have a lot of books for camp,” Mildred remarked conversationally.

“I’m studying,” Ethel explained with a little frown at Mildred’s confused expression. “For Selection Day.”

“Mum says the exams mostly cover the basics, but I guess it never hurts to be prepared. Where do you think you’ll be in the fall?” Mildred asked casually as she knelt beside Ethel to pick up scattered sheets of paper from the floor.

“Mother wants me to go to Amethyst’s,” Ethel shared slowly before adding, “But I’d like to go to Pentangle’s.” There, she had voiced it to the universe. Come what may. 

“Well, that explains all the modern magic books,” Mildred responded.

“What about you?” Ethel asked politely.

“Probably Pentangle’s,” Mildred replied, fidgeting with her braids. Spotting a book by a puddle on the floor, Mildred reached over to pick it up, examining the damp item, before handing it back to Ethel. “It’s a little wet on one corner, but most of the pages look okay.”

Ethel tried to hide her disappointment as she took the damaged _Lessons of Modern Magical Pedagogy_ from Mildred, internally chastising herself for carelessly leaving the book out last night instead of tucking it away with the others. Shoulders slumping unconsciously, Ethel reverently placed the book on her trunk.

“Was that what you were reading last night?” Mildred asked incredulously, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yes,” Ethel hedged.

“But that book’s a tome! It’s not even for students. It’s for, like, teachers.”

“You’ve read it?” Ethel asked, surprised.

A flush crept up Mildred’s cheeks as she massaged her neck uncomfortably. “Not really. I just – we have it at home.”

“That makes sense. It has a pretty comprehensive section on Modern Chanting.”

Mildred’s mouth dropped open. “How did you--?”

“Miss Bat might have mentioned your mother was a modern chantsmith,” Ethel shrugged off in a show of nonchalance. 

“Right,” Mildred grasped. “Yep, mum’s always learning about the newest techniques.” Dusting her hands, Mildred abruptly rose to her feet and surveyed the room. “I think that’s all of them.”

Before Ethel could ask any further questions, a knock sounded at the door, and Mildred bustled over to reveal two sodden figures, decked out in ponchos and galoshes. Emitting a sound of glee, Mildred quickly welcomed Maud and Enid into the cabin. Ethel winced at the dirt the newcomers tracked in but held her tongue. It was the least she could do. 

“This is cozy,” Maud observed tactfully as she wiped her glasses dry on the hem of her shirt.

“What are you two doing here?” Mildred asked with an excited smile.

“Mail delivery!” Enid cheerfully announced, disentangling a letter from the sleeve of her poncho.

“They delivered it to our cabin by mistake,” Maud elaborated with a none-too-subtle glance at Ethel, who was still crouched on the ground. Ethel quickly busied herself with changing her rain-covered sheets, securing a fresh set of linens from a basket in the corner.

“It’s from your mum,” Enid emphasized mysteriously, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Thanks,” Mildred said, plucking the letter from Enid’s hands with a laugh.

In the distance, they could hear the lunchtime bell clanging from the mess hall. Placing a hand over her growling belly, Enid declared, “I’m starving. You coming, Millie?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you there.” Waving her friends off, Mildred crossed the room, bounced onto her bed, and eagerly tore open the letter. Ethel rolled her eyes and focused on wiping up the last of the rain and dirt that had fallen on the floor with a few handy quick-clean spells. Once she was satisfied that the cabin was restored to its original musty but clean state, she glanced back at the other girl. “Are you ready for lunch?”

Mildred started from her seat on the bed, knees curled up into her body and her arms wrapped almost protectively around herself. Her brow furrowed as she looked up from the letter in her hand. Expression wan, Mildred spoke in an uncharacteristically quiet and subdued tone. “You go ahead. I’ll be there soon.”

With a mere quirk of her eyebrow at the sudden change, Ethel nodded. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you down there.”

She had just closed the screen door behind her when the sound of muffled cries made her hesitate. Biting her lip in thought, Ethel cautiously peered through the screen door to see Mildred’s prone figure lying on the bed, the other girl clutching her pillow against her chest. Silently pushing the door open, Ethel re-entered the small cabin, crossing the floor with padded steps, her arms awkwardly hanging by her sides. “Bad news? I can … stay, if you like, or grab you something from the mess hall.”

With a sniff, Mildred lifted her head from the pillow. Rubbing wetness from red-rimmed eyes, she said, “It’s silly. I got a birthday card from my mother.” At Ethel’s confusion, Mildred added in explanation, “I don’t really see her that often.”

“Oh, I thought—"

“My _other_ mother,” Mildred clarified.

“Your other mother,” Ethel echoed with understanding. Perching tentatively on the bed, Ethel said sympathetically, “I’m sorry, Mildred.” After a beat, she confided, “My mothers are separated too. I can’t even remember my mum. I’ve never really met her and only have a few pictures.” Ethel took a shaky breath, “She’s never even tried to get in touch.”

“I’ve never met my mother either,” Mildred revealed with a glum expression. “She sends a card once a year on my birthday.” She gestured to the offending letter, sniffing frustratedly. “Without a return address. I don’t know where she lives, and all I have is this one picture of my parents from their engagement that my mum gave me. It’s the two of them on this boat.”

“Your mothers got engaged on a boat?” Ethel exclaimed.

“Yeah, the QE2.”

“It must have been some sort of trend,” Ethel replied thoughtfully. “Mine too.”

“Weird,” Mildred said, getting up to noisily blow her nose. Mildred gave Ethel a bashful smile, “Thanks, Ethel.” Seemingly recovered from her tears, Mildred broadly stretched, asking awkwardly. “You, uh, want to get lunch? Crying makes me hungry.”

At Ethel’s nod, Mildred ducked into her messy duffel to grab a sweater. Standing, Ethel made to follow but not before stooping to pick up Mildred’s discarded letter, which had fallen to the floor. Setting it carefully on Mildred’s bed, Ethel glimpsed the affectionate salutation, “My dearest Mildred,” written at the top of the elegant, cream stationery. Fingering the texture of the familiar paper, so like the reams Ethel faithfully refilled at her mother’s apothecary shop each month, Ethel stared transfixed at the precise, black script. Those leanly looping “l’s,” the crisply crossed “t’s,” even the slight slant of the inky letters and the small, even spacing of the text were so reminiscent of countless holiday cards, weekly grocery lists on the kitchen counter, neatly printed labels for potions awaiting delivery, and the chalkboard of ingredients requiring replenishment that her mother checked off at the start of every season. Dizzy from the flood of images, Ethel lifted a trembling hand to flip to the last meticulously written page, her eyes scanning for the signed valediction, “Love, Mother.” On shaky legs, Ethel crossed to her side of the room to retrieve the delicate wooden box gently packed away in her trunk. Digging through its contents, Ethel held a single framed picture close to her chest. Turning to the other girl, who was still rummaging through her clothes, Ethel wavered before taking a deep breath. “Mildred, does the name ‘Hardbroom’ mean anything to you?”

“What?” Mildred asked distractedly, poking her head through an oversized sweatshirt. Straightening the hem, Mildred queried, “How do you know that name?”

Ethel steeled herself and slowly uttered. “It’s my last name. Ethel Hardbroom.” With the other girl’s attention at last, Ethel flipped to reveal the framed photograph, a picture of her young brunette and blond mothers beaming up at the camera on the night of their engagement on the Queen Elizabeth II ocean liner nearly thirteen years ago. She searched Mildred’s brown eyes for confirmation. “And these are my mothers.”

“Mum!” Millie stepped forward in recognition. “Mother?” The other girl turned to her with questions in her eyes. “But that’s – what does that mean?”

Ethel tried to piece together her racing thoughts. “Mother said they used a donor, a friend of mum’s, Oliver Splendorgrass --”

“Uncle Ollie,” Mildred confirmed, her tone brightening in awe.

Ethel blinked as her mouth twitched with a cascade of dawning realization. “Millie, I think it means we’re sisters.”


	5. Chapter 5

Mildred and Ethel sat side-by-side, the photos from Ethel’s box of keepsakes splayed out on Mildred’s bed.

“I think this might be us,” Ethel said, flipping over the photo of her toddler self stumbling towards her mum beside another brunette girl, to read the caption on the back. Scrawled were the words, “Millie and Ethie, 2011.”

“Ethie,” Mildred mused, feeling the roll of the shortened syllables against her tongue. “I like it.” Ethel smacked her arm with a pillow in response.

“Hey!” Mildred mock-winced, rubbing at her wounded arm. “That’s what mum calls you. I can tell. This is her handwriting.”

She could almost feel the blond rolling her eyes. “Fine,” Ethel relented, grousing. “But only because you’re my baby sister,” she teased with a playful twinkle in her eye.

“By three weeks!” Mildred protested. She knew comparing birthdays had been a mistake. Over the last hour, she had somehow transitioned from an only child to the baby of the family. As Ethel giddily cackled next to her, Mildred suspected Ethel would never let her live it down and mischievously lifted her own pillow with a light-hearted whack to Ethel’s face to muffle the sound.

When their giggles had subsided, Mildred asked more seriously, “Ethie, what’s mother like?”

“Mother is… I don’t know. She’s hard to describe. She’s brilliant. She used to be this potions prodigy, at least that’s what Ada says.” At Mildred’s raised eyebrows, Ethel continued, “She’s mother’s best friend from university and my godmother. Our godmother?” Ethel shrugged. “Anyway, mother used to teach potions at Weirdsister College, but now she runs the Honeybee with Ada. It’s the neighborhood apothecary shop, and mother’s known for all sorts of specialty potions. She’s quiet but constant, like I know that I could go to her with anything.” Mildred watched as Ethel unconsciously traced the outline of their mum’s profile with her finger. “What’s mum like?”

“Mum’s great. She’s kind of like my best friend. We do everything together. She’s busy a lot, what with being the headmistress and all, but she always makes time for me. One of our favorite things is to go flying around the castle together, especially around sunset. You have to see them - the sunsets at the castle are gorgeous.”

Ethel made a skeptical face. “Mildred, you’re a horrible flyer.”

Mildred sputtered at the accusation. “Hey, I resent that. I will have you know that I am a first-rate flyer, Ethie Hardbroom, and I challenge you to a rematch any day, although preferably when it isn’t storming and I don’t have to fear for our lives.”

“You’re on,” Ethel accepted with a grin. “Where did you learn those spells anyway?”

Rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly, Mildred gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Muscle memory? Mum used to use them on me all the time when I was younger. It saved me from a lot of bumps and bruises. I was kind of accident-prone…?”

“I believe it,” Ethel laughed, bumping Mildred’s shoulder. Ethel then released a wistful sigh. “I wish I could know mum. I wonder what happened. Mother never talks about her.”

“It’s scary the way no one stays together these days,” Mildred agreed. “I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t love mum. Everyone adores her.”

“And mother’s absolutely wonderful,” Ethel effusively affirmed.

“You know what’s interesting?” Mildred pondered aloud. “Neither of them ever remarried. Has mother ever gotten close?”

Ethel emphatically shook her head.

“Mum too.” Suddenly, Mildred jumped up, eyes wide as she gazed down at Ethel with a delighted smile. “I have a brilliant beyond brilliant idea.”

“What?” Ethel asked curiously.

Brimming with restless energy, Mildred gesticulated wildly. “Well, you want to know what mum is like, and I’m dying to meet mother. What if we switched places? I know we don’t look alike, but we’re witches. There must be some potion that could change our appearance, even if only for a few days,” Mildred proposed with a flourish.

“Switch places?” Ethel repeated, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

At her sister’s skeptical tone, Mildred shrugged her shoulders in easy concession, her hand waving away her fanciful thoughts. “You’re right, it was a dumb idea. It’s not like I know any potions that would work anyway. It was stupid.”

“No, Millie,” Ethel countered, raising her hand to slow the brunette’s dismissive train of thought. “Hold on. Switch places,” Ethel echoed thoughtfully. “We could brew …” Ethel rushed over to her trunk mid-thought, rummaging through its contents until she let out a triumphant shout, thick book in hand. Rifling determinedly through its pages, Ethel let out a satisfied hum before twirling back around, brandishing the page under Mildred’s nose. “A Transformation Potion! Pondweed, phoenix feather, magic pinecone, foxglove, dark nut, blue leaf, bat drool. We can find most of these ingredients in the forest. Remember the scavenger hunt?”

“We won’t find phoenix feather in the forest,” Mildred pointed out.

Ethel paced back-and-forth, contemplating this new obstacle, before whirling around with renewed excitement. “The medi-witches! They must have some. We’d have to steal it, of course,” Ethel muttered to herself. “But Millie, I think we can do this!”

“Really?” Mildred brightened.

“You’re brilliant, Millie!” And with that, she grabbed Mildred into a bone-crushing hug.

“Ethie!” Mildred squeaked.

\-----------

Later that night, the two girls were lying in bed, their two beds pushed together as they continued to fill out the details of their plan. 

“Maud and Enid said they would help, although Maud wanted us to know she held serious reservations about the whole idea,” Mildred shared.

“Duly noted,” Ethel quipped.

“What about Felicity and Sapphire?”

“They’re in too. Sapphire and I are going to go out to the forest after breakfast tomorrow to see what we can find, and,” Ethel added with a wry scoff, “Felicity’s nominated herself as our team’s love expert.”

Mildred chuckled, her gaze landing on a nearby table, already spilling over with their efforts from the day. Scattered across its surface were family charts, floor plans, duplicated potions instructions, and notes painstakingly distilling eleven years’ worth of memories into a usable summary. Ethel had pulled together a list of reference books from her mobile camp collection, far too many books in Mildred’s opinion, and Mildred had dedicated much of her evening to outlining every nook and cranny of the Pentangle’s Academy castle in loving detail, including brief blurbs on every single staff person, from the teaching faculty to the groundskeepers. There were so many people to remember, and she hoped she had not forgotten anyone in her haste. Thankfully, Mildred had a much smaller list to memorize. Ethel’s world seemed to mostly consist of mother, Ada, and a handful of regulars at the Honeybee.

Protected from all the chaos, the center of the table had been set aside for the pièce de résistance, two framed photos of their mothers. Mildred studied the pictures, one familiar, the other new, but equally treasured. In one, a younger version of her mum and a beautiful brunette woman, mother, smiled up at the camera. In the other, more familiar picture, Mildred could tell neither woman had posed. Her mum was gazing adoringly at mother, who was shyly peeking back. Mildred did not think she had ever seen her mum look at anyone that way. She supposed this was her mum in love. 

“Felicity might be onto something,” Mildred reflected. “The truth is, if we switch, sooner or later, they’ll have to switch us back.” Raising her eyebrows meaningfully, Mildred turned to face her sister. “And they’ll have to meet again, face to face.” Mildred let out a contented sigh, lying flat on her back once more with a smile curling at her lips.

Beside her, she could hear Ethel’s breath hitch. 

“Ethie, what’s wrong?” Mildred asked concernedly. Silence hung in the air for a few long seconds before she heard Ethel’s hesitant voice in the darkness.

“She never wrote me,” Ethel whispered. “What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“Ethie, no, never,” Mildred vehemently denied. “Mum, she – she would get into these moods sometimes, where she would lock herself in her office and hide away. I always thought it was about mother. But now,” Mildred turned in the direction of the other girl. Ethel seemed to avert her eyes, staring fixedly at a nondescript spot on the wall. “I know it was about you too.”

Mildred had her own question on the tip of her tongue, but she was almost too afraid to ask. “Does mother ever talk about me?”

Ethel paused before responding as if knitting together a forgotten memory. “A few years ago, I found her crying in her room. She was looking at a picture. Of us, I think. At the time, she said I’d had a really good friend once named Millie. I got so scared. I thought maybe this girl Millie – you – had died. The next day, I snuck into her room, but the picture was gone.” Ethel shifted towards her, and this time, Mildred found herself evading the other girl’s sympathetic gaze. “We never talked about it again.”

Mildred felt pressure building up behind her eyes at the thought of mother crying over her. She remembered all the times she had crawled into mum’s lap, wondering about her mother. Lost, mum had told her the first time she had asked. She had recently misplaced her teddy bear, Puss, and during those trying hours, mum had painted stories of Puss boldly traversing the wilds of England to return home to them. For years, Mildred had imagined mother on a similar journey, sailing the perilous seas, dark hair blowing in the storm, and trekking over mountains to find her way home. Of course, in time, Mildred had come to understand the realities of divorce, far-flung fantasies replaced by cold, immovable truths. Mother was not lost. She had chosen to leave her and mum, and Mildred had wedged those truths into the corners of her heart. Now, she was not so sure. Perhaps mother had been waiting for her all along.

Under the covers, she felt Ethel shift again, and fingers intertwined with her own in a light squeeze. “No matter what happens, I’m glad I found you, Millie.”

“Sisters forever,” Millie promised with a gentle squeeze back. 


	6. Chapter 6

_Grab mother’s key from the dish by the front door_ , Mildred repeated to herself as she leaned against the metal counter in the kitchens and waited for the others to arrive. It was the last week of camp, and today, after three weeks of planning, they finally had all the ingredients to brew the Transformation Potion.

Mother’s key would open the back room of the Honeybee, where she kept potions ready for delivery, additional inventory for the shop, and most importantly for their purposes, the supply cupboard. Stealing from the medi-witches had been a taller order than expected.

When Mildred had first mentioned the idea, Enid had nonchalantly volunteered for the risky task, confident in her ability to sneak around camp undetected after lights out.

“Leave it to me,” she had promised with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Camp security was admittedly quite minimal, and no one had questioned the plan. However, Enid’s first attempt had come up disappointingly empty-handed. According to her, she had fumbled around in the dark for nearly an hour, searching rows and rows of jars marked with spidery script when she had finally given in to Maud’s urgent hisses from outside the window to hurry up! Maud, having earlier drawn the line at stealing – “I refuse to be a thief!” – had been relegated to the role of lookout.

Mildred had had to bite her lip from laughing at her squabbling friends as she had watched Enid, lower lip jutting out pathetically, wheedle the other girl into keeping her company.

Readjusting her glasses with a heavy sigh, Maud had finally agreed, “I’ll do it for Millie.”

With her and Ethel one strike away from being sent home early, Mildred was only too grateful for their help. 

Her first attempt a bust, Enid had remained undeterred, quickly hatching a second plan. Her second attempt involved some more dramatic flair, complete with a staged injury, and Maud again as her reluctant accomplice. Aiming for ready access to the infirmary during the daytime, Enid had cajoled Maud into playing in a pick-up witch ball game, a nosebleed nougat strategically placed in her pocket, when a wayward ball had reduced the need for the candy at all, and Maud was immediately rushed to the medi-witches, blood gushing from her nose without any magical assistance. As a disgruntled Maud was tended to by the medi-witches, Mildred had sat contritely by her side, while Enid had surreptitiously scanned the shelves.

Unfortunately, Enid’s innocent act needed work. Maybe it had been her transparent line of questioning into “where they kept the more rare magical ingredients, perhaps of the avian variety” that had Maud groaning with something other than pain or the waggling eyebrows and small fist pump that accompanied its discovery on a top shelf. Whatever the case, after the disappearance of a handful of phoenix feathers later that week, Enid had been ducking her head to avoid distrustful scowls ever since, and they had all come to the consensus that any more attempts would only arouse further suspicion.

Enid’s pilfering had garnered them enough phoenix feather for a week and a half’s worth of the Transformation Potion, which came out to a few days each. That was far too little time in both Mildred and Ethel’s opinions. Wracking their minds for other alternatives, Mildred and Ethel had ultimately decided to allot most of the potion ingredients to Ethel, concluding that it would be easier for Mildred to sneak into the Honeybee after hours than for Ethel to have to ransack Aunt Lucy’s quarters for the key to the potions supply cupboard at Pentangle’s.

Mildred was understandably uneasy about the process. She did not think stealing from her mother was the best way to build a relationship, but of course, the whole point was that mother need never know. Ethel had meticulously outlined the different steps to access the Honeybee. _Grab mother’s key from the dish by the front door_ , Mildred read off Ethel’s notes for the umpteenth time. Once she was inside the Honeybee, she would have to contend with the additional security measures in place when the shop was closed. A powerful incantation, bound to mother and Ada alone, sealed the doorway to the back room, but Ethel had reassured her that she had dipped into the shop after hours countless times before at mother’s behest with a simple security key designed to grant her access. Touching the doorknob would activate Ethel’s key. The doorknob would glow blue twice in recognition of Ethel, and a simple recitation of the confirmation spell would allow her entrance. _Of flesh and heart, my hand the sign, undo the locks of her design. Of flesh and heart, my hand the sign, undo the locks of her design,_ Mildred committed the incantation to memory as she practiced the accompanying flourishes. She only hoped that Ada, who lived above the shop, was as sound a sleeper as Ethel seemed to believe.

“Trust me,” she had snorted, proceeding to tell Mildred stories of all the times that she and mother had had whispered conversations while her godmother nodded off over a precariously held cup of tea.

Mildred smiled as Maud and Enid dashed into the kitchen, Enid triumphantly holding a bag of freshly gathered herbs. Mildred quickly set about organizing the different materials on the counter next to bowls of neatly piled mustard seeds, washed wheatgrass, distilled broadbean juice and the four cauldrons she had prepared in advance. After Enid’s run-in with the medi-witches, they had agreed to keep their noses extra clean, and thankfully, Miss Tapioca seemed to have a soft spot for Ethel. Apparently, the head cook had developed a fondness for her as she observed Ethel’s daily, late-night visits to the camp library and thought her a wonderful role model for her own young daughter, Mabel, so when Ethel had asked her for permission to brew potions in the kitchens between mealtimes to study for Selection Day, the head cook had consented with alacrity.

Maud, eyes still sporting a slight bruise and a thin white bandage on the bridge of her nose, carefully grounded henbane with a mortar and pestle, while Enid chopped silverweed leaves. For her part, Mildred rinsed the stinging nettles, toadflax, and snotty gobble plants of dirt and dew. The sour milk to cream potion had been Maud’s idea as a common Form 1 potion with the additional bonus of doing something sweet for the accommodating cook. Over the next hour, Mildred, Enid, and Maud hunched over their heated cauldrons, following the step-by-step instructions laid out in Ethel’s potions textbook, and by the time Ethel, Felicity, and Sapphire had joined the trio, they had four vials filled with amber liquid.

As Ethel inspected their efforts, she shook Enid’s with a scrunch of her nose. The vial in question contained a tawny, gluey mixture a little thicker than instructed, although not for lack of trying. At Felicity’s unkind snicker, Mildred jumped in with a sidelong glance at her bristled friend, explaining that it would look suspicious if they had all mastered the potion on their first try.

“Right, it’s called ‘artistic license,’” Enid retorted.

Maud, ever loyal despite their recent spat, was quick to back up her friends, following up with a scoff and a short roll of her eyes. “Fliss, it’s like you’ve never done this before.”

Despite her sometimes-snarky comments, Mildred had to admit that Felicity brought a certain je ne sais quoi to the team. Unbidden, she had sat Mildred and Ethel down to spout some unsolicited advice on matchmaking their mothers. Whipping out a sparkly felt-tipped pen with a poufy end from behind her ear, Felicity had proceeded to drill them on the basic tenets of love.

“It’s critical to find out how they met,” she informed them. “Gets them thinking about the past. You might even be able to recreate their first date,” she said, tapping her pen against her notepad in thought. “And don’t forget to ask what they loved about each other. You can build on that.”

Felicity continued eagerly, “And make sure to surprise them with the reunion. Keeps them on their toes, you know?” Mildred glanced over at Ethel, who looked uneasy at the prospect of blindsiding mother. Mildred tried to imagine how mum might react. She supposed the element of surprise might work in their favor. Sensing her friends’ hesitation, Felicity reassured confidently, “You don’t want to give them too much time to prepare. Adults always overthink these things.”

“But make sure they dress their best.” She peered at the bubble-shaped letters that covered her page of notes. “Hmmm, sometimes it helps to give back-handed compliments to highlight their insecurities, especially from like a father figure. That might be just the motivation they need to get a makeover. Or if that doesn’t work, try to put together some sort of sexy outfit.”

“Ewww, Felicity,” Mildred winced. She really did not need that image in her mind. “These are our mums.”

Felicity simply shrugged. “Your mothers are gorgeous,” she stated matter-of-factly. “They should use what they have.”

At her friends’ unimpressed faces, she flipped through her checklist. “Okay, if you can manage giving one of them an injury….” Mildred and Ethel shared a look of horror at the proposition. “Then one of them can nurse the other back to health.”

“We are _not_ injuring our mothers, Fliss!” Ethel interjected emphatically.

“Obviously, I meant, a _small_ injury. A broken ankle or something, so she can’t fly home,” Felicity huffed in defense.

“Um, Fliss,” Mildred broached tentatively. “Not that we don’t appreciate your help, but where did you learn about all of these … great ideas?”

“Oh, Millie,” Felicity cooed condescendingly. “It’s in all the movies, and Witch Weekly has tips all the time. These are tried-and-true ways to get two people to fall in love.” As Felicity glanced down at her notebook again, Mildred and Ethel exchanged another uncertain glance.

“Or, if you can temporarily trap them in the same room, that always helps.”

This idea at least seemed reasonable. Mildred shrugged at Ethel, who offered cooperatively, “Our cottage is pretty small, so if mum and I came to you, mum and mother would have to share a room.”

Felicity nodded approvingly. “That works. Sharing a bed, confessions of love in the night,” she sighed dreamily. “They’re bound to fall in love and get back together. How could they not – your mum’s _the_ Pippa Pentangle!”

Mildred appreciated the other girl’s forbearance at sacrificing the “scoop of the century” for the sake of her friends, and by the end of their impromptu brainstorming session, they had decided on a course of action. Operation Let’s Get Together consisted of some well-meaning research into their mothers’ past relationship and a surprise reconciliation at the Hardbroom cottage. Mildred had firmly asserted that Pentangle’s Academy was no place to fall in love. Her mum would be far too occupied with planning for the school year to even consider a relationship, and a lovely holiday in the countryside sounded like just the thing to rekindle old flames. 

The next vials labeled with Maud and Mildred’s names received a passable nod, and Mildred gave her sister a sly wink when Ethel’s eyebrows rose with clear surprise at the perfectly brewed amber tonic labeled with her own name. She had guessed rightly that Ethel would be embarrassed to present Miss Tapioca with anything less. 

Then, the real work began. Sapphire and Felicity unpacked the ingredients for the Transformation Potion: pondweed, foxglove, dark nut, blue leaf, bat drool. Sapphire and Ethel had spent the last several weeks tramping through the forest, diving into the depths of nearby ponds during the last moon cycle to harvest the algae at its most potent, climbing trees to gather handfuls of nuts, and even braving caves for fresh droplets of mammalian saliva. Thankfully, the duo had seemed to enjoy every minute of it, if Sapphire’s wide grin was any indication. Felicity, who sometimes joined her friends, seemed noticeably less enthused on their trek to the caves, shuddering at the memory of having to circumvent the slumbering winged creatures to pipette the viscous liquid. Suffice it to say that Felicity did not accompany her friends for the next week, choosing instead to join Mildred in the much safer confines of the art studio.

With Mildred and Ethel no longer sniping at one another, Miss Drill had turned a blind eye to the six-some squeezed around the small corner table each mealtime, trays balanced on laps as they regaled each other with their adventures from the day. If anything, by the third day, the table seemed positively roomy, suddenly accommodating all six trays with nary a jostle, and Mildred took that as a sign that they had returned to the counselor’s good graces.

Magic pinecone turned out to be their most challenging ingredient, and they had only just managed to locate the elusive plant in the last week, much to everyone’s relief, with a little bit of unexpected help from Miss Mould. The art counselor had shared a story about stumbling upon a small grove of the pines during her first year at camp, and she had been more than happy to retell the story in exquisite detail for her captive audience when Felicity and Mildred had sidled up to her after class, Felicity’s trusty pen and paper in hand for a new staff edition of the Bugle.

“Done,” Mildred declared from behind her sister, who had her elbows on the counter as she waited for her cauldron to smoke. She could just see the beginnings of a few delicate tendrils of smoke wafting up from the mixture.

“You’re finished already? I think mine needs a few more seconds—,” Ethel turned around distractedly. Her jaw dropped in speechless astonishment mid-way through as she came face-to-face with her own mirror image.

Behind her, Mildred could hear Maud and Enid laughing at Ethel’s flummoxed expression, but she was too preoccupied taking in her new body. Mildred had taken a small sip of her Transformation Potion and was pleasantly surprised at the effect, examining her arms and wiggling her fingers before glancing up in wonder at her sister. “How do I look?”

“You look … just like me,” Ethel sputtered. “Except for the braids,” she noted teasingly. “And the mismatched socks.” Eyes alight with excitement, Ethel quickly added a single brown strand of hair to her potion. Stirring the light red mixture five times clockwise and five times counterclockwise, she raised a quivering half-spoonful to her lips. The change was immediate as Ethel’s features began to shift and shape into the spitting image of Mildred. 

Sapphire was the first to utter a quiet, “Wow. I can’t believe we did it.”

“Millie?” Ethel questioned, teeth nervously chewing on her bottom lip as she smoothed her tight, brown ponytail.

“Ethie,” Mildred returned eagerly, reaching out for her sister’s hands. “We did it!” she squealed, jumping delightedly and pulling her sister up to join her.

Mildred was still reeling from their success as their friends gathered around them.

Maud was marveling at the transformation. “You even sound like her!”

Mildred walked a few tentative steps across the kitchen floor before stumbling over her own untied shoelaces. Enid snorted behind her.

“But your walk definitely needs work.”

She heard her own voice call out. “I guess that answers that question. The Transformation Potion doesn’t transfer our abilities, only our physical forms. You’re still you, and I’m still me, just in different bodies.”

Mildred was about to say it would not matter much as long as they stuck to everyday tasks when Felicity stepped up to her once-blond friend. Eyebrows quirked with curiosity, she raised a hand to trace Mildred’s features on Ethel’s face. “It’s amazing,” she said. “You’re Millie, but you’re not,” she trailed off softly.

Mildred felt her stomach clench at the sight. A blush rising to her cheeks, she watched the other girl gently brush her nose with a finger and card through the ends of her hair as if transfixed. She felt frozen in place, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, and she was surprised to see her own face crinkle in confusion.

“Fliss, what _are_ you doing?” The voice was her own, but the incredulous tone was patent Ethel Hardbroom.

At Enid’s awkward cough, the other girl seemed to come back to herself with a self-conscious laugh as she stepped back to face the group. “It’s weird, right? The resemblance is uncanny.”

“Let’s hope your mothers think so,” said Maud.


	7. Chapter 7

Ethel sat amongst her friends at their usual corner table in the mess hall. It was their last dinner at camp, and Miss Tapioca had celebrated the occasion with generous trays of banoffee pie, tilting her witch’s hat in thanks to the little table. Sapphire had her mouth full of the light cream concoction, a white smudge lining the right side of her upper lip, while Maud was meticulously scraping the bottom of her plate for every last crumb of the scrumptious pastry shell.

After bolting from the kitchen earlier this afternoon with mumbled excuses about being “freaked out,” Felicity was now comfortably sharing a second dish of banoffee pie with Mildred, passing the other girl a shy smile. Mildred’s cheeks pinked, her mouth turning upward into a pleased grin, as she asked Enid about her plans for the rest of the summer. So apparently, that was happening.

Ethel scooped another spoonful of sweet, caramelized banana, but her stomach was too churned with anxiety to truly enjoy it. They had all exchanged mirror numbers and had spent a languid evening reminiscing about camp memories in full expectation that they would be reunited in the fall. Sapphire, Felicity, Maud, Enid, and of course, Mildred, were all set to attend Pentangle’s, and with the revelation of Ethel’s own lineage, they seemed to assume nothing less of her own fall plans. Even Mildred seemed to take for granted that Ethel would join her at Pentangle’s, chattering on about how excited she was to finally get her own familiar as they readied for bed. If Mildred furrowed her brows at her reticence, Ethel merely shrugged it off with a smile. She _was_ tired, she rationalized, so that was not really a lie. And it was no use for Mildred to worry too. Ethel tossed and turned long into the night. Well, she sighed to herself as she stared out the window into the inky darkness, at least, she would not have to worry about any bags under her eyes tomorrow. She only had to make it through the morning, and the Transformation Potion would take care of the rest.

The next morning, packed and dressed in each other’s clothes, Mildred rocked onto the balls of her feet with anticipation.

“You ready?” Mildred asked with a nervous smile, hands playing with the tips of her braids.

Ethel took a steadying breath. “All set.” She crossed her arms and fingers tightly to her chest in a large “X.” They would need all the luck they could get, and Mildred grinned back, mirroring the superstitious pose.

“This is going to work,” her sister affirmed with an enthusiastic nod. “It has to, and no matter what happens, Ethie, we won’t let them keep us apart.”

“Never,” Ethel promised with every fiber of her being before being ensconced in Mildred’s tight embrace.

“All right, here goes nothing!” Mildred announced as she tilted the vial of deep purple liquid into her mouth. There was no turning back now, Ethel thought, as she quickly followed in suit.

\-----------

Ethel watched as an overjoyed Ada greeted Mildred with a hearty hug, the fidgety blond sending her a reassuring look before setting off atop Ethel’s borrowed broom, a sturdy trunk containing all her books, notes, and two days’ worth of Transformation Potion securely snuggled in a roll of socks trailing sedately behind her. Her godmother had been one of the first adults to arrive, and Ethel suspected mother had ushered her reliably tardy godmother along. Overprotective to a tee, mother had never once been late to pick Ethel up from anywhere, attributed to a combination, she supposed, of irrational fear and an almost religious respect for the steadfast tick of time. Ethel felt herself awash with love at the thought that she had been missed, and for a moment, she allowed herself a little twinge of wistfulness for the warmth of mother and home.

Felicity had already been picked up by her parents, her mother and father giving her their rapt attention as she breathlessly rattled off the latest news from the past eight weeks. Enid had flown off in an elaborate display of sparkles and fireworks. Ethel as Mildred had had to restrain herself from scoffing at the flashy robes and sunglasses that seemed to just scream for attention. She could almost hear her mother’s sniff at such a superfluous waste of magic, her mouth pursed in quiet incredulity. Enid had seemed to take the showy entrance as a matter of course, her murmured, “They came,” the only sign of surprise as she donned her own sunglasses and bounded into the arms of the celebrity witch and wizard.

Sapphire had stumbled over Ethel’s introduction to her mother, a kind, apple-cheeked woman, who had been delighted to meet her daughter’s friend. “And this is Ethel, I mean, Millie,” Sapphire had hastily corrected last minute, expressing regret that her mother had unfortunately “missed” her cabin mates for the summer. With a quick hug and a whispered, “Bye, Ethel!” Sapphire and her mother had soared into the distance, their matching capes fluttering in the soft summer breeze.

And then there were two. Ethel and Maud shuffled awkwardly as they prepared their brooms for departure. Maud lived close enough to camp that she had flown here on her own, and Mildred had apparently begged their mum to allow her to travel to Camp Walden alone, citing not wanting to make a fuss by having her mum in tow. Ethel was thankful for the few hours of reprieve. After all these years of waiting, she did not think she was quite ready to meet her mum yet. They were just about to set off when Miss Bat waved for her, or rather Mildred’s, attention.

The camp director ambled over with a broad smile. “Mildred, I’m glad I caught you before you left,” she said as she drew Ethel into her side. “And I hope that the punishment wasn’t too harsh.”

“Not at all, Miss Bat. I think I ought to thank you. It was the best thing to happen to me.”

“I thought I saw you and Ethel grow close, like two peas in a pod.” The older witch released Ethel with a fond farewell. “And will you be a dear and tell your mum I said thank you for the books?”

“I will, Miss Bat.”

And with that, Ethel and Maud kicked off their brooms to start their journeys home. Camp Walden slowly faded into the distance, the sturdy cabins, winding forest paths, and Moose Lake gradually covered from view by wispy white clouds as they ascended higher and higher into the atmosphere. The two girls rode companionably side-by-side, chatting about Ethel’s part in the broomstick waterskiing exhibition for the end of summer talent show and Maud’s timely full recovery from her misadventures with Enid, an incident she may have forgotten to mention in her weekly letters to her folks, until Maud wished her luck and waved goodbye, directing her broomstick towards the pointed rooftops of a nearby town.

Ethel had never flown anywhere on her own before, mother always swift to have either her or Ada accompany her on their rare sojourns beyond their country hamlet, and she found it freeing. She passed by several more towns until the land beneath her mellowed into lolling hills and the dappled green of forest leaves. Beyond the tree line, she could see the rise of an expansive castle. 7 Pembrook Lane. Pentangle’s Academy. _Mum_.

Ethel steeled her nerves, fingers clutching at her broomstick handle as she began her descent. This was going to work. It had to. Ethel willed to the wind, _please like me. Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part 1. Next up - more Hecate and Pippa.


	8. Chapter 8

The clouds parted, and Mildred could see a small town coming into view below. She had spent the last half hour answering Ada’s questions about camp, sticking with the script to share mostly Ethel’s experiences, which was easy enough considering her sister’s many activities. The woman listened attentively, her kind eyes crinkling with enjoyment from behind her narrow spectacles, as if she savored her every word, and Mildred found her lips and shoulders quickly loosening in response to the older witch’s evident fondness for her goddaughter. Although surrounded by her fair share of loving adults – the walls of Pentangle’s Academy had been nothing if not filled with eccentric educators she proudly called aunts and uncles – Mildred had never had a godmother before, and she thought this was something she could get used to.

It was an odd sensation to claim Ethel’s exploits as her own, but Mildred supposed it was simply bragging about her sister once removed. And that seemed to assuage her conscience. She had just told Ada about Ethel’s death-defying routine in the broomstick waterskiing exhibition, and her godmother shook her head with a bemused chuckle.

“It sounds like you have quite a knack for it, Ethel, but,” the older witch added with a conspiratorial wink, “perhaps best to save your mother from the details. You know how she worries.”

The two witches dipped gently closer to the ground, now navigating through quiet streets as neighbors potted plants in their yards and passed leisurely by on broomsticks, waving hello as they went about their summer day. Open windowed homes surrounded by patches of verdant lawns, some neatly mowed, others overgrown with bursts of wildflowers dotted the roads, and soon they came to a peaceful lane with a handful of cottages bordering the woods. Beyond the houses, a dirt path cut a meandering trail through a meadow into the forest.

Ada gracefully landed beside the last house on the lane with a cheery welcome, “Home sweet home.” Disembarking from her broom, Ethel’s trunk sailing behind her, the woman strode towards the expansive fields with purpose.

Mildred glanced around uncertainly, seeing nothing before her but the wide, empty meadow. Following her godmother’s confident gait, Mildred tentatively placed a foot onto the uncut grass, and suddenly, a cozy cottage home appeared in front of her. Curiously removing her foot, Mildred looked up, half-expecting to see the sweeping illusion of uninhabited fields once more, but the sturdy home remained, still clearly visible and nestled unobtrusively at the end of the lane as if it had been sitting there all along. She approached the house with awe, taking in the meticulously tended walkway, the large bay window decorated with blue and violet perennials, and a delicate white trellis leading to the backyard.

Ada unlocked the front door and beckoned her in with a smile as she unfastened her cloak and set the levitating trunk safely on the ground in the foyer. “I’ll go make us a quick cup of tea so you can freshen up before we go see your mother.”

Nodding agreeably, Mildred made to follow her godmother into the house when she found herself abruptly blocked by an invisible force at the threshold. Mildred cautiously tested the barrier with first her hand, then her feet, to no avail. She futilely pushed her shoulder into the wall with all her might, but as expected, the barrier seemed to only fortify against her efforts, resisting and even repelling her weight. A household protection spell, how could they have forgotten? Every witch’s home had one. If only she had remembered, a simple touch of Ada’s shoulder as they crossed the threshold together would have allowed her entrance. Now she was very much barred from the house. No matter the face she wore, the house knew she was not Ethel, which left her with an unenviable puzzle to solve. How could she get Ada to invite her into her own supposed home before her godmother noticed anything amiss?

“Ada?” Mildred hesitantly called from the doorway. She could hear water running as her godmother ostensibly filled the kettle.

“In the kitchen,” the older witch’s voice replied from afar. “Hurry up now. Your mother’s waiting, and we don’t want to be late.”

“Can you come here for a minute?”

She could hear the older witch shuffling around in the interior of the house as she prepared the tea. A few minutes later, Ada poked her head out of the kitchen. “Ethel, what are you still doing outside?”

Mildred hastily adopted what she hoped was a nonchalant pose, leaning awkwardly against the uncooperative door frame. Gesturing broadly, she said with a smile, “Isn’t it a beautiful day, Ada? I was admiring the foxgloves. Did mother add something different to the garden this year?”

Mildred stilled in anticipation as the older witch humored her by ambling towards the door. “Not likely. Your mother isn’t one for change.”

“No, I think there’s definitely something different,” Mildred interjected. Waving her godmother towards her, she pretended to marvel at the fabricated additions. “What about this patch here?” she pointed indiscriminately. Next door, she spotted an older bearded wizard knelt by a large pot, gently plucking yellow flowers from the cumin plant on his patio, a bowl of bright red chile peppers sitting beside him. “Is that from Mr. Fennel’s garden?” Mildred remembered reading something about the green-thumbed neighbor in Ethel’s copious notes, mother and Mr. Fennel often swapping gardening tips and the Hardbroom clan delighting in fresh leaves from his popular murraya koenigii tree. She watched as her godmother sauntered nearer at an excruciatingly slow pace. Just a few more steps, she willed.

Suddenly, the tea kettle began to whistle, and her godmother gave Mildred a small shrug before turning on her heel, footsteps fading into the distance.

Suppressing a groan of frustration, so close, Mildred dejectedly dropped her head against the threshold. She proposed weakly, “Maybe we could drink the tea out here?”

Clear amusement lacing her voice, Ada returned, “Ethel, this is no time to dawdle. The tea’s almost ready. Come on in now.”

Immediately, Mildred stumbled into the foyer, nearly upsetting the umbrella stand as it rattled against the hardwood floor. After twirling around in gleeful celebration, she glanced back at the doorway and hesitantly reached her hand across the entrance. Her fingers passed easily through the air, and Mildred released a breath of relief. 

Heart still pounding with adrenaline, she followed the sound of Ada’s absentminded humming into the kitchen.

“Oh, there you are,” Ada said as she handed Mildred a cup of fresh tea. “We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Quickly washing her trembling hands in the sink, Mildred took a hurried sip of the offered tea. The scalding liquid burned down her throat before she set the cup back down on the table in one swift motion. “I’m ready,” she announced eagerly. At Ada’s furrowed brow, Mildred let out an awkward laugh, “I just really want to see mother.”

Her godmother responded with a reassuring smile. “Of course, dear. Right you are.”

\-----------

A bell tinkled cheerfully overhead as Mildred entered the Honeybee. The quaint shop was warm and inviting with brightly colored potions and deftly prepared ingredients labeled clearly in her mother’s familiar script neatly arrayed throughout the shop. A few customers were already milling about this summer morning, and one older man greeted her with a broad smile. “Is that Ethel Hardbroom? That tall, gangly thing?”

Mildred chuckled at the wizard. Long, flowing white hair with a matching beard. “Well met, Mr. Rowan-Webb.”

“Welcome back, Ethel!” the man said affectionately. “I want to hear all about this camp of yours.”

Ada responded with a smile, “I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line, Algie. I’m on a mission to deliver this girl to her waiting mother.”

“Ah, a wise man never gets between a mother and her young. Another time then, Ethel!” Mr. Rowan-Webb ceded with good humor, juggling a few packages in his hands.

“Ethel, why don’t you go on ahead while I help Mr. Rowan-Webb with his purchases?” Ada suggested, nodding towards the back room. “It will give you two some time to catch up.”

Mildred took a deep breath as her godmother guided the wizard towards the check-out counter. Across the shop, Mildred could see an open door leading to the back room. Now that she was finally here, Mildred felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest. She thought of the picture in her trunk at the cottage, the same picture that she had taken carefully out of the mahogany memory box her mum had given to her on her tenth birthday, nine pristinely preserved letters held inside.

“Sweetheart, it’s up to you what you want to do with the letters,” her mum had said, “but if you wanted, I thought you might need a safe place to keep them.”

Mildred had carried the mahogany box to her room, gently storing it in the bottommost drawer of her desk, and a few hours later, the familiar envelope had arrived. The letter always said the same thing – how much her mother loved her and missed her and how she hoped she could forgive her. Sometimes, it asked her questions about herself, and when she was younger, Mildred would draw out lengthy replies, telling her mother all about her favorite color, her favorite foods, and her cottage school friends.

Other times, it came accompanied with a small, practical gift, like the ones her cottage school friends would bemoan from distant relatives. When she was a toddler, she received a pair of warm woolen socks for her ever-cold feet or a soothing salve that her mum used judiciously for her various bumps and bruises. When she was a little older, it was a home-brewed healing potion for minor colds and fevers that seemed almost prescient a few months later when England was hit with a particularly nasty flu season.

As the years went on, the letters with their unanswerable questions began to anger Mildred. How was she even supposed to respond without a return address? And if her mother truly loved her, why had she never bothered to visit so Mildred could tell her about her favorite subjects and her first shaky broomstick flight in person? Despite it all, a part of her kept a painful flicker of hope alive. But her mother never did visit, and Mildred tried to stop thinking up any replies at all.

On her tenth birthday, the letter had come wrapped in a handknit ocean blue scarf.

“Millie, how beautiful,” her mum had murmured encouragingly. “It perfectly complements your eyes.”

Mildred remembered thinking the letter horrid and the scarf hideous. Crumpling the letter in frustration, she had pitched it and the offending blue scarf across the living room, half-expecting her mum to reproach her for her childish tantrum. To her surprise, her mum had simply scooped her up into a long hug, and when Mildred’s tears had finally subsided, her mum had playfully shooed her off to get changed for the children’s museum that afternoon. The next morning, Mildred had found the letter and scarf lying in a messy heap exactly where they had fallen the day before. After a moment’s hesitation, she had picked up the beleaguered letter and determinedly smoothed it out as best she could. Pulling out the memory box, she remembered delicately placing the creased sheets inside the wooden box to join its sisters. As for the scarf, she had worn it all winter long.

As Mildred slowly approached the open doorway, she peered curiously inside. The back room was as fastidiously organized as the rest of the shop but with far cooler color tones. It reminded her of Aunt Lucy’s potions laboratory. Although much smaller, every inch of the room seemed to have been designed with utilitarian precision. A large black chalkboard filled one wall, her mother’s slanting script listing ingredients for replenishment and upcoming delivery dates in chronological order, while another wall was stacked with shelves, holding lines of corked vials and luminescent flasks. Several cauldrons bubbled atop a long table in the center of the room, and leaning over one such cauldron was a tall, dark-haired woman. Dressed in classic black from head to toe, her long hair pulled up and twisted out of her way, she was carefully sipping a spoonful of a bubbling cerulean concoction. Mildred thought she could detect a faint hint of peppermint in the air. 

“Mother,” Mildred whispered in awe, and suddenly, her mother’s deep brown eyes were locking onto her own.

Her mother’s face broke into a wide smile. “Ethel! Welcome home, honey.” Her mother’s voice was remarkably like the voice she had so often imagined and at the same time, somehow infinitely better. Engulfing her in a warm hug, her mother seemed to drink her in. “I’ve missed you so.”

“I’ve missed you too, mother,” Mildred echoed softly, tightening her arms around the older witch. More than she would ever know. Her mother’s body felt more angular than her mum’s but solid and safe. Mildred leaned her head into her mother’s chest, her heart beating steadily in her ear. Her mother was here, and she was real.

“How was Camp Walden? Did you meet anyone nice?” her mother asked with a slight hitch to her voice.

Mildred instinctively tensed at the question, and her mother seemed to almost mirror her nervousness, as if holding her own breath in bated anticipation. Mildred quickly brushed aside her silliness – no matter how powerful a witch, her mother was no mind reader – and murmured into her mother’s shoulder, “Camp was amazing, mother.” As she proceeded to tell her mother about Maud and Enid, she imagined she could almost see her mother’s shoulders relax a fraction in unison with her own.

Perched on a tall stool, Mildred was in the middle of excitedly telling her mother about Miss Drill and the obstacle course when out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black cat slink towards her from the direction of the supply cupboard with a suspicious hiss, fur aggressively on end.

Jumping up in surprise, Mildred knocked several large wooden spoons off the counter with a loud clatter.

“Morgana,” her mother quickly hushed as the cat leapt out of the way of the falling spoons with an alarmed yelp before hissing once more. “It’s only Ethel.” Her mother knelt to cradle the aggrieved cat in her arms, disturbed by her uncharacteristic behavior.

Mildred hastened to retrieve the scattered utensils as she plopped back onto her stool. Reaching out a tentative hand to the skittish cat, she greeted, “Hi Morgana.” When the cat failed to approach and merely studied her with an air of apprehension, Mildred awkwardly retracted her hand. Feigning casualness, she shrugged, her hand coming up to rub the back of her neck, and offered unconvincingly. “I must still smell like camp.”

“A little thing like that should hardly affect her,” her mother said worriedly, checking the cat’s eyes for any sign of disorientation. “Familiars have such keen memories. I do hope she’s not coming down with anything.”

At her mother’s furrowed brow, Mildred swiftly changed gears, resting her elbows eagerly on the table. “So what are we doing today?”

“Oh, Ethel,” her mother said with an apologetic sigh. “I’m afraid I have a slew of orders to brew this afternoon. If you want, you can help Ada out front or I can see you back at home for dinner.”

Mildred deflated with disappointment. She had assumed they would spend the whole day together. “Can’t you take a break?” she asked almost plaintively.

Her mother pursed her lips in a small frown. “You know I can’t do that, Ethel. This is one of our busiest times of the year.”

A timer went off nearby, and her mother immediately proceeded to unscrew the lid of a nearby jar. With a pair of tweezers, she delicately extracted a single firefly wing and dropped it into one of the cauldrons, beginning to stir the mixture in a complicated series of clockwise and counterclockwise strokes. Mildred stood to peer into the cauldron, which contained a simmering golden elixir. 

Focused on the potion before her, her mother proposed distractedly, “Ethel, why don’t you help Ada out front? This part does unfortunately require my full attention.”

Clearly dismissed, Mildred slumped unhappily. She was resignedly moving towards the door with heavy steps when her mouth suddenly curled into a mischievous grin. “Oh, I was just hoping to talk to you about Fliss.”

“Hmmm?” her mother hummed vaguely. “Who’s that?”

“She’s a friend I met at camp. We … almost kissed,” Mildred stumbled onward with a rising blush, “and I just wondered when you knew that you loved mum.”

Mildred watched her mother’s eyebrows rise dramatically as the flustered older witch knocked over the open jar with a wayward elbow, fragile firefly wings strewn haphazardly across the counter. She sputtered, “When I knew I loved …? Your mum…?”

Mildred added with a shrug, “But I guess we can talk about it later.” Ignoring her mother’s weak calls after her, she glibly skipped from the room, satisfied at a job well done.

Mere minutes later, her mother swept into the front of the shop. A flush still visible on her usually fair cheeks, she stopped abruptly before Ada and Mildred, who were chatting behind the counter.

“Ada, something’s come up, and I’m going to need to take the afternoon off.”

Ada seemed to know her mother well enough not to probe any further. “Of course,” her godmother answered smoothly. “Take all the time that you need.”

“I’ve already started the last three orders for tomorrow. The healing potion is halfway done, and the potion to remit nausea simply needs to simmer for another two hours.” Her godmother dutifully scribbled the information on a writing pad as her mother continued hurriedly. “For the prostaglandin attenuation potion, I added the first firefly wing four minutes ago, so please make sure to add the second in exactly ninety-one minutes. My notes with the modifications for the adjusted warming sensation are on the counter.”

“Hecate,” her godmother replied facetiously, with a quick wink in Mildred’s direction. “I’m not sure to which potion you’re referring.”

Taking an exasperated breath and sparing a glare for the other woman, her mother begrudgingly rephrased. “Ada, please make sure to add the second firefly wing to the ‘ _cramps-be-gone_ ’ potion in now exactly _ninety minutes_.”

Ada nodded in acknowledgement, eyeing a near-empty shelf of flasks filled with honeyed liquid to her left. “Right, we’ll need a new batch soon.” She added in an aside to Mildred, “‘Cramps-be-gone’ has been flying off the shelves ever since we re-branded. Good on you, Ethel.”

Mildred smiled at the unearned compliment, glad her godmother seemed unfazed by the recent turn of events. Turning to her mother, Mildred asked innocently, “Where are you going, mother?”

Unamused, her mother pinned her with a knowing look. “I thought _we_ would go for a picnic and a nice walk in the park to talk about your new friend Fliss … and your mum.”

\-----------

As the two settled down on the linen blanket, her mother unpacked their picnic basket to lay out their spread for lunch. “So, tell me more about this Fliss.”

Mildred did not know where to begin. She had first met Felicity in the art studio after accidentally burning Ethel’s painting, but she could hardly talk about Ethel with her mother. Mildred really had not thought this through. “Well, she and I met in the art studio. She was in a different cabin, but we started spending more time together in the last month of camp.” This was all in fact true. While Ethel and Sapphire had been scavenging in the woods for the different potion ingredients, Felicity had begun to find her way to the studio more often than before. Shortly after the bat drool incident, Mildred had been in the middle of recreating the view from her bedroom window at Pentangle’s when Felicity had noisily set up an easel next to hers.

“We can talk about anything but bats,” she said with an emphatic shudder.

“That bad, huh?” Mildred responded with a sympathetic chuckle.

“Yes! She wouldn’t talk about anything else all night!” Felicity huffed.

The “she” in question was a very chatty Sapphire, who seemed to find the roost of bats that she and Ethel had discovered in a remote section of the woods the day before absolutely fascinating. Ethel and Sapphire had planned to loop back around that afternoon just for a second look. With Enid enthusiastically tagging along and Maud, on the other hand, being tapped by Miss Drill to help prepare for the end of summer talent show with some other girls from their year, Mildred had taken the opportunity to bow out as well. She needed some time and space to process the past few days, and a rare quiet afternoon with only her thoughts and her brush for company had sounded like just the thing.

Felicity suddenly showing up threw a bit of a wrench in Mildred’s plans. As usual, the other girl was running a mile a minute, but behind the gossip, Mildred suspected Felicity felt a bit lonely with her two closest friends bonding in the woods without her. Ethel had become rather single-minded the last few days, and while Mildred too could think of little else, she understood how the other girl might feel left out.

When Felicity had gushed over her painting, that had been all the encouragement Mildred needed for her own preoccupying thoughts to tumble out, her pent-up homesickness, how much she missed her mum. Mildred had thought it insensitive to bring up missing her mum with Ethel. Her sister was so desperate to meet her as it was, and with Maud and Enid, she knew Enid had her own hang-ups about her parents often not being around. So, Felicity, with her avid thirst for any and all stories about her mum, became her unexpected confidante, and to her surprise, the other girl had turned out to be a thoughtful listener. It seemed Felicity had two modes, the one where she was on ninety percent of the time, sniffing out stories for the Bugle and almost single-handedly churning the Camp Walden gossip mill, and the other that only a handful of people got to see, the girl who could sit in silence and offer a reassuring smile and drape a comforting arm around her shoulders when Mildred snuffled back a few stubborn tears.

Stolen hours at the studio soon melded into other days, where Felicity would join Mildred in her old bunk with Maud and Enid. The four of them would lie around after a long day of swimming as they waited for Ethel and Sapphire before dinner. While Mildred sketched, Felicity would braid friendship bracelets, seemingly by the dozen, and on the last day of camp, Felicity had presented her with her very own. Mildred fingered the thin bracelet around her wrist. Felicity had pulled her discreetly aside after dinner and had seemed almost shy as she tied the pink and purple bracelet with highlights of royal blue. With a dimpled smile, she had leaned in to press a quick kiss against her cheek, and Mildred’s eyes had widened into saucers in response. “I’ll see you in the fall, Millie,” Felicity had waved before running after Sapphire.

Mildred met her mother’s expectant eyes. “Fliss is really pretty and sweet, and she really loves art too.”

“And you … almost kissed?” her mother asked gently.

“Well, she sort of … kissed my cheek on the last day of camp?” Mildred squeaked nervously. Toying with the ends of her now blond hair, Mildred wished she could talk to her mother as her instead of Ethel. “Mother, when did you know you loved mum?” she blurted out.

Her mother appeared to ponder the question as she started contemplatively. “Your mum was … your mum was the very first person I loved. I was much older than you at the time,” she added with a smile at Mildred. “We met when I worked at Weirdsister's. After your grandparents died, I was raised by my Aunt Broomhead, and she, well,” her mother seemed to search for words, “I told you before how she wasn't very kind or accepting. In fact, I-I don’t think she ever really learned how to love.”  
  
“We need to learn how to love?” Mildred asked. She had never considered love something to be learned. It seemed so natural, like breathing or drawing, but then again, maybe Felicity had been on to something with her quizzes and impromptu lessons after all.  
  
“Well, yes,” her mother replied with a measured tone. “I think some of us learn to quite young. Your mum was like that, but for me,” she continued softly, “your mum was the one, who taught me how to love.”

“How?” Mildred asked curiously.

Her mother smiled nostalgically. “Oh, all sorts of ways. When I was upset, she would make me a cup of tea and rub my back, tell me that she loved me.”

“Fliss makes me laugh even when I feel sad.”

“She sounds like a worthwhile friend, honey, and maybe something more,” her mother said encouragingly. “I hope you exchanged mirror numbers.” Mildred nodded as she blushed scarlet. She did not really know how she felt about Felicity beyond the fact that she liked spending time with her and holding her hand and maybe wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but those were all things she hoped she would have figured out by the time they were both at Pentangle’s. But she was getting sidetracked. She needed to stay focused on the task at hand, and she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have something to tell Felicity when she sent her a mirror message either.

“Did mum make you laugh?”

“Oh, yes. Your mum was full of surprises, always getting me to try new things.” Her mother’s voice took on a somber tone. “She was very patient with me.”

As her mother trailed off, lost in thought, Mildred noted confusedly, “You talk about her as if she’s gone.”

At that, her mother seemed to come back to herself. “I’m sorry, honey. I--I don’t mean to. I suppose I just don’t know her very well anymore.” At Mildred’s worried gaze, her mother motioned her closer, “Come here.” Mildred scampered over as her mother reached out a hand to tenderly cup Mildred’s chin, observing her features with unabashed wonderment. “You’re growing up so fast, and you look so much like her.” Mildred burrowed closer into her mother’s side, content to stay wrapped up in her mother’s arms all afternoon. “You know, your mum used to say, ‘Love is when you want--"

“--‘Someone to have all the good things,’” Mildred finished instinctively. She had grown up hearing her mum say that all the time.  
  
“That’s right,” her mother confirmed with a tone of bewilderment. “How did you…?” Mildred’s eyes shot open in alarm as she realized her mistake. “I didn’t realize that was such a common saying.”  
  
It wasn’t, Mildred thought with a wince. Her mind racing and her mouth flapping open uselessly, Mildred floundered for a believable explanation. Where could she have picked it up? “I... I learned it at camp?” she offered with a held breath.  
  
Oblivious to Mildred’s internal panic, her mother seemed to easily accept the explanation with a satisfied hum. “I’m so glad you enjoyed camp, honey, that you made new friends, that you met Fliss. If you’d like, maybe we can have her over some time.” She pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Mildred’s head. “I want you to have all the good things--”

Mildred soaked up her mother’s love. She knew if her mum was here, she would have wanted to hear all the details about her first crush and peppered her in enthusiastic kisses, but something about her mother’s quiet affirmation felt just as powerful. She knew both of her mothers would accept her, whomever she liked, but it felt like a burden lifted to hear it confirmed nonetheless.

“--Ethel.”

Right, she was “Ethel.” At least, she still got to be hugged by her mother.

“Hmmm, you do smell a little like camp,” her mother remarked, not without a little fondness. “Let’s get you home and washed up.”

\-----------

Her mother was downstairs cleaning up after dinner, and Mildred had just stepped out of a blissfully hot shower, the things you miss while away at camp. Wrapped in a towel and ringing water out of her long blond hair, Mildred opened Ethel’s immaculate dresser to rummage around for a pair of clean pajamas. Ethel’s room was all neat corners, her notebooks and pens arranged without exception in perfect right angles on her desk and her bed tightly tucked as if made this very morning and not a long eight weeks ago.

On one wall stood a tall bookshelf. Mildred idly perused her sister’s collection. Most of the shelves were filled with textbooks standing side-by-side, history of this, foundational elements of that, with empty spots here and there for, she presumed, the many books still packed in her trunk. Lower along the shelf, Mildred spotted some old issues of Witch Weekly and a few books on flying techniques, witch ball, and broomstick waterskiing. As she ran her fingers along the spines of the flying books, absently thinking she might browse through one later, she thought she saw a slight flicker at the edge of her vision when she was distracted by Morgana stalking into the room. The cat’s penetrating yellow eyes vigilantly tracked Mildred as she slowly knelt before her mother’s familiar.

Mildred tentatively reached out a curled hand, inviting Morgana to approach her. “What did mother say? That cats remember everything? Do you remember me, Morgana? It’s me, Millie,” she confessed softly. The black cat cautiously padded closer to her, glancing up at her for a moment, before warily sniffing her offered hand. As if in recognition of her scent, the probing nose was soon followed by a fur-covered head eagerly nudging against the palm of her hand.

“You do remember me,” Mildred whispered in awe. She smoothed the black cat’s silky fur and scratched behind Morgana’s ears, earning herself a contented purr as the cat gracefully crawled onto Mildred’s lap.

A bell chimed behind her. It was a mirror message from one Mildred Pentangle. “That’s Ethel,” Mildred confided to Morgana with a smile. “I wonder how her first day with mum is going.”

The message was a single word in all caps: “SOS.”


	9. Chapter 9

Light streamed in through lofty, floor-to-ceiling windows as Ethel wandered the halls of Pentangle’s Academy, her yellow duffel slung over one shoulder and her broomstick over the other. She felt as if she were sneaking around a museum after hours, tiptoeing across gleaming hardwood floors and peeking into room after empty room. It was all so different than she had imagined. On her first day at Pentangle’s, she had pictured herself attending interactive lectures with brilliant faculty; impressing her chanting mistress, who would tell her she was years in advance of her peers; and handily earning the title of head of year. In her dreams, her mum would always magically expect her on Selection Day, tugging her into her side in front of all her classmates as she announced her as her long-lost daughter. She would give her a private tour of the castle, her arm wrapped around her waist as if she would never let her go, and in the evenings, they would hide away in her mum’s pink-laden office, just them two, as they shared about their days over a hot cup of tea.

But in the place of boisterous chatter, there was only oppressive silence and the anxious ticking of the grandfather clock in the main hallway as it counted down the seconds until she met her mum.

By the time Ethel slowly trekked up to the third floor, the sound of drumming in her ears felt near-deafening. She had just rounded a corner, heading through what Mildred had outlined on her map as the faculty living quarters, which were mostly vacant during this time of year, when a woman in her early-forties rushed into the hallway. She was followed by a tubby ginger cat with half a dumpling clutched between its teeth. Juggling a messy stack of folders, a thin maglet, a half-open Tupperware container, and a bold blue blazer in her arms and with a pen gripped tightly in her mouth, she looked to be engaged in a precarious balancing act to lock her door.

Spotting Ethel frozen at the end of the hallway, the witch let loose a muffled noise of pleased surprise and begged her over with a nod of her head. Quickly laying down her duffel and broom, Ethel scrambled forward to grab the copper key thrust in her direction. Her mind immediately launched into a litany of facts from Mildred’s notes. Lucinda Pinch, “Aunt Lucy,” the potions mistress, and her familiar, Dooey. Been at Pentangle’s since the start of the school. Trained at Spellman Academy in Westbridge, Massachusetts--

As Ethel navigated the key into the lock, Aunt Lucy used her now free hand to pull the pen from her mouth. “Millie! You’re back from camp!” she exclaimed.

“Hi, Aunt Lucy,” Ethel stammered, awkwardly fiddling with the key to have something to do with her hands. She had been hoping for a few more minutes’ reprieve before having to whip out her nonexistent acting skills.

“What, no hug?” Aunt Lucy replied teasingly. Ethel stood there dumbly. How was she supposed to hug the woman without her dropping everything?

“Hold this,” the older witch instructed, not deterred in the slightest by her non-response, as she pushed the pen, maglet, plastic container, and haphazard pile of folders into Ethel’s conveniently empty arms. For his part, Dooey rubbed against her shins in a universal feline welcome. Unfolding the blazer, Aunt Lucy gracefully slid into the well-tailored garment. Ethel thought she caught a glimpse of a colorful tattoo of a rushing river on the witch’s upper arm as she settled into the shoulders and tousled her wavy black hair with streaks of silver. Aunt Lucy seemed to communicate in a flurry of half-sentences and gestures that Ethel struggled to follow. Scratching her ear, the older witch opened her arms and raised her eyebrows, as if implicitly asking her opinion. Ethel did not know what to think. The final look was somehow both professional and fashionable with … a flavor of untamed chaos? Appraising quickly, Ethel decided to give a few reassuring nods in quick succession.

That seemed to be the right answer though as the older witch replied, “Good. What would I do without you?” Retrieving her things, Aunt Lucy smiled brightly before thoughtlessly conjuring a levitation charm for her belongings. Why she had not considered casting the spell earlier, Ethel had no idea. The woman’s use of magic was baffling, but that thought had barely crossed her mind when it was rapidly replaced by the woman’s next request.

“Now, Millie, come here and give me a hug!”

Shyly stepping into the woman’s open arms, Ethel uncomfortably endured being squeezed and peppered in affectionate kisses. Mildred may consider Aunt Lucy family, but to Ethel, she was little more than a very touchy-feely stranger. She wished Mildred would have prepared her a little better for the woman’s eccentricities. Maybe she could have avoided this corridor altogether.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got to run. I’m covering for your mom to get ready for the big fundraising gala this weekend – something about your mom wanting to spend quality time with you,” the older witch said with a wink. “The things I do for you and your mom on my summer vacation, but I’ll be around tomorrow. Ollie’s going to have to share you because I want to hear all about camp too.” And with that, the witch waved her hand to sweep from the hall in a swirl of bright blue when Ethel regained her senses enough to ask.

“Where’s mum?”

“In her office!” came the disembodied reply as the older witch, her floating possessions, and her ginger familiar disappeared as abruptly as they had arrived on the scene.

Ethel took a breath. She had made it through her first encounter, Aunt Lucy none the wiser. Now all she needed to do was find her mum.

If the return of the stomping elephants in her stomach was any indication, she thought she might need a few more minutes to build up her nerve, so Ethel decided to take the long route to the office, stopping first to swing by her mum and Mildred’s apartment. Placing her yellow duffel on the floor with Mildred’s borrowed broom propped neatly beside the door, Ethel unzipped a side pocket to fish out a second copper key. She tentatively attempted to slide the key into the lock when it immediately hit an invisible wall. Just as she had expected, a household protection spell. No matter, Ethel thought to herself, she would enter with her mum later.

With that settled, Ethel straightened her spine and anxiously worried her lip. Now all there really was left to do was find her mum. After another deep breath, she started to walk towards the southern wing of the castle.

As she approached her mum’s office, she could hear the faint strains of a classic chanting melody by the famed Madam Vespertilio floating through an open doorway at the end of the hall.

Craning her head around the half-open door, Ethel found herself staring into a functional space of understated elegance instead of the bubble of pink she had been primed to expect. Her mum was seated behind a stately mahogany desk, surrounded by neat mounds of paperwork. Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, she determinedly scanned the documents in front of her. Flipping rapidly back-and-forth between two pages, her mum spoke aloud, “Is this everyone?”

A steady voice replied from a concealed corner of the room. “Pippa, there are still a few weeks before Selection Day--”

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I just thought….” Her mum’s voice sounded small and uncertain, bereft almost, but perhaps those were the side effects of an unfortunate summer cold as her mum sniffled discreetly into a tissue. “By now, I was so sure she would have….”

Ethel waited hesitantly in the doorway, unsure if she should interrupt, when a black cat padded around the door to meow plaintively up at her.

At the sound, her mum glanced up with a start. “Andromeda, what is it?” At the sight of Ethel standing in the doorway, her mum lit up with a joyful smile that immediately smoothed the furrows of her anxious brow. “Millie!” Turning back towards her companion, her mum said, “Millie’s home, so I’ve got to go. But if you can please double-check every letter.”

Before Ethel could get more than a few steps into the room, Andromeda sniffing confusedly at her heels, the mirror call had been disconnected, the tissue discarded, and her mum was gliding across the room to sweep her into a loving embrace. Ethel blinked back sudden tears as she first stiffened and then melted into her mum’s strong frame. Pulling back with concern reflected in her brown eyes, her mum asked softly, “Millie, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I just really wanted to see you…mum.” Ethel faltered over the unfamiliar endearment. Her mind stuttered into encompassing blankness, pages and pages of memorized details and notes vanishing in an instant, as her whole world narrowed on her mum’s face, a hairsbreadth from her own.

“Well, I’m here now,” her mum reassured, drawing her close once more. Ethel’s fingers clung to her mum’s back as if trying to convince herself of those long-dreamt words. “Let me just clean up here. I’ve cleared my whole schedule for the day and have a surprise coming,” she tapped her golden wristwatch in confirmation, “in about an hour.”

“A surprise? For me?”

“Yes, you, silly,” her mum responded as she quickly tidied what looked like enrollment lists on her desk.

Ethel jumped as she felt a wet nose persistently nuzzling her ankle. Bending down with a smile, Ethel greeted her mum’s familiar as the sleek black cat rested its silky paws on her knee. “Hi, Andromeda.” She gently petted the cat’s head, eliciting a pleased purr. Soon wriggling excitedly out of reach, Andromeda repositioned herself so that her back was lying flat on the carpeted floor, her belly exposed and her paws dancing in the air. Ethel giggled at the cat’s friendly antics, stroking her belly to a murmur of soft purring.

In a few moments, her mum was crouched next to her, laughing easily, as she indulgently petted her familiar behind the ears. “She’s starved for touch these days with only me for company. Andromeda, you’re just waiting for all the students to arrive to dote on you, aren’t you?” her mum teased. Turning back to Ethel, she confided, “She’s been lonely without you these past two months.”

Ethel snuggled into her mum’s side as they walked back to her mum and Mildred’s living quarters. They had taken a different route from her mum’s office, and Ethel was already disoriented. No matter how many hours she had studied Mildred’s drawings of Pentangle’s, the castle in reality was so much more immense than she could have possibly anticipated, a labyrinth of winding corridors and passageways that seemed to blur together in the haze of meeting her mum. In truth, Ethel was not paying much attention at all as her mum filled her in on the goings-on of the castle over the past few weeks, too distracted by the light scent of her mum’s perfume and the curl of her arm around her shoulders.

Her mum interrupted her thoughts. “You’re usually bustling with excitement, racing down the halls with me rushing to catch up, and today, you’re stuck to me like glue.”

“I just want to be close to you,” Ethel admitted with a crimson flush.

“Well, that makes two of us,” her mum nudged her playfully. On a gentler note, she asked, “Were you homesick at all, sweetheart?”

“A little,” Ethel answered timidly.

“Me too,” her mum affirmed with an affectionate squeeze.

“You were?”

“Oh, so much. The first time I went to Camp Walden, I cried every night for the first few weeks. I missed your grandparents like you wouldn’t believe. I used to cry in the shower to hide my tears, and I told my friends I had this mysterious allergy to something in the water.” Her mum chuckled nostalgically before gazing into Ethel’s eyes, “And for the first week after you left, I kept forgetting and calling for you around the apartment. Your Uncle Ollie had to keep reminding me that you’d be home in eight weeks. We’ve been counting down the days.” Her mum unlocked the door to the apartment, while levitating in Ethel’s duffel and broomstick. “It’s so good to have you back, sweetheart.” Ethel leaned into her mum’s side and felt the shiver of the household protection spell allowing her entrance as she smoothly crossed the threshold. “How did you like Camp Walden though?”

Thinking back to her friends at camp, Ethel beamed happily without a trace of self-consciousness for the first time all afternoon. “I loved it, mum.” And she saw a broad smile spread across her mum’s face in a reflection of her own as she burst into stories about swimming in Moose Lake, fencing, and the art studio.

\-----------

Ethel had started to unpack her clothes when her mum had quickly dismissed the notion, reassuring her that she would have plenty of time for all of that later, and so Ethel had instead followed her mum to Mildred’s studio to show off her sister’s new artwork. Her mum had adored the enchanted coffee mug, transferring it immediately to the center of the kitchen shelf as her new favorite, and marveled at the complex magic involved in charming the intricate ice figurines to withstand any heat. Ethel was in the process of finding a spot for Mildred’s watercolor landscape of a sunset view, so like the scene outside the open window, she could almost see the blades of grass lilting in the summer breeze, on the already crowded walls when her mum paused beside a neighboring new addition and observed, “This is beautiful, Millie.”

Ethel felt her breath catch in her throat.

“The style’s a bit different from the others, the lines more deliberate, more precise.”

Ethel stared along the wall at the painting in question, her painting, as her mum leaned forward to take a closer look. Ethel knew it had been a risk to bring it, but she had not been able to help herself. To an undiscerning eye, the painting could easily fade in among the others, neither the most captivating nor the most technically skilled amidst her sister’s many pieces from camp, each carefully shrunk and preserved by Miss Mould for easy transport, and yet, her mum had seen it, almost gravitated towards it.

Ethel struggled to find her voice. “It’s you,” she softly replied.

Her mum turned to her with undisguised pleasure and surprise. Ethel had painstakingly recreated the image from a 1987 photo of her mum and another young camper performing in a broomstick waterskiing competition. She had sketched and resketched every line, every detail, forgoing other fun projects of the day to focus on this one, and she had even gone so far as to sneak out the photo from the camp library, supposing a temporary check-out did not count as stealing per se. Her conscience eased, Ethel had swiftly tucked the bulletin under her shirt and bid a hasty farewell to the rotating staff person on duty. For days, she had carefully mixed and blended colors to match the original until she had deemed it near-perfect, and with the art counselor’s help, she had added the final magical touches, enchanting the painting to capture tense muscles straining to hold near-impossible poses, blond hair whipping in the wind, and sprays of water carving across the lake. Regretfully returning the original to collect dust among other rarely revisited camp memorabilia, Ethel remembered bursting into inconsolable tears when she had finally lain the painting out to dry only for it to be burned by Mildred’s overeager dragon.

“I remember,” her mum reminisced, her hand skimming over the charred marks still visible on the bottom-left hand corner. “Eva … Sprite and I had practiced this routine for weeks until it was flawless, and little Dimity still somehow managed to blow us all away with her ‘Star of the Sky’ routine. How did you…?” her mum asked with amazement.

“I found it in the camp library.” Ethel had discovered the picture on her first night at camp, in one of the summer editions of the Bugle, and from there, Ethel had scoured the archives for other glimpses of her young mum. Once she had started looking, her mum had been easy to find. From even those old, forgotten photos, Ethel could tell her mum had been beloved. Such a presence at camp, she had beamed up at her from nearly every other page, always at the center of every big camp event, surrounded by a bevy of friends.

“This may just be my new favorite,” her mum pronounced with a smile. Basking in her mum’s pride, Ethel knew in that moment that all the planning, all the subterfuge, it had all been worth it. 

Suddenly, she could hear a bell ringing in the distance, and her mum clapped with unbridled delight. “Right on time.”

\-----------

Her mum’s surprise had ended up being a catered lunch, the elaborate menu carefully crafted by witching society’s most revered chefs, all in preparation for Pentangle Academy’s annual fundraising gala that weekend. Lengthened by magic, the table had been teeming with little plates of poached lobster tail and fresh asparagus spears, beef fillets grilled to perfection, cockle risotto, hand dived scallops with truffle vinaigrette, crispy duck eggs with chorizo, cheese gnocchi, lamb flatbreads with pickled cucumber, and to top it all off, there had been a decadent chocolate mousse cake with lavender sorbet for dessert. Ethel was in heaven, and she did not think she could eat another bite.

They had tasted them all, her mum consulting her opinion on every dish as she noted which ones would be served that Saturday. In between muffled bites, her mum had asked after Miss Bat and teased her about how few letters she had received from Mildred after the first month of camp. “You never even told me about how field day went. How was the broomstick race?” Ethel had tripped through a choppy retelling, weaving between her and Mildred’s experiences and slipping into so many “we’s” for the latter half of camp that she had had to make up a new persona altogether. “Oh, ‘we’? Um, I meant ‘me’ and, uh, a girl named, uh, Annie,” Ethel fumbled as she stuffed another spoonful of the lavender sorbet into her mouth, her ears burning with embarrassment.

After their luncheon feast, her mum had proposed a leisure flight around the expansive school grounds to allow their bodies time to digest. For hours, Ethel and her mum had soared along side-by-side over rolling hills and long stretches of untamed forest before deciding to race back towards the castle. Determinedly ducking her head low over her broom as she chased after her mum, Ethel had quickly learned that her mum was a gifted flyer with a flair for the dramatic. She had pursued her as the older witch sped gracefully beneath archways, skimmed along the glass roof of the greenhouse, and flicked droplets of water at her from the school’s Olympic-size outdoor pool, until her mum had, without warning, pulled up into a gravity-defying loop-de-loop to chase a giddy Ethel in turn. At the end of their marathon flight, a gladly caught Ethel had hovered above the tall spires of the castle beside her mum, in reverent admiration of the radiant pink and purple hues cast by the setting sun. Mildred was right. The view was magnificent.

It had been a perfect day, Ethel mused to herself as she meandered through the castle later that evening. Her mum had been called away to tend to some last-minute preparations, and Ethel had decided to take the opportunity to explore. She unfolded Mildred’s handy map, which she had secreted away in her pocket, and tried to pinpoint her location. If she turned left here and descended the short staircase, she should come to a landing overlooking the main hall.

Arriving at the landing, Ethel saw her mum perusing a sheaf of paper in the foyer below. Ethel’s arm was mid-wave, her mouth opened to announce her presence, when she heard a velvety voice accompanied by the clack of sensible heels tapping against the hardwood floor, and the words died in her throat. “Pip.”

Ethel watched as a beautiful woman, her slender figure draped in a loose white shirt tucked into hugging black jeans, drew closer to her mum. Reaching forward, the younger witch gently placed her mum’s glasses atop her head with an intimate smile before pulling her in for a searing kiss. “I’ve missed you, babe.”

Her mum curled into the other woman, brushing her fingers through dark, short locks, their bodies in constant contact. “How did everything go today?”

“Without a hitch,” the woman answered smoothly, all the while caressing her mum’s arm. “Lucy has the final schedule for Saturday, and I’ll follow-up with the media team tomorrow morning. You?”

Her mum hesitated. “I didn’t want to spring it on her on her first day home. I--I'll tell her tomorrow.”

“Okay,” the woman acquiesced. As she tenderly framed her mum’s face, Ethel could see the glint of a ring on the woman’s left hand, and as if through a haze, Ethel heard the woman gently proclaim, “I love you, Pippa Pentangle, and I can’t wait to marry you. But we can do this however you want.”

Ethel watched in growing horror as her mum tilted her face upward to capture the other woman’s lips with her own. A small moan escaped her mum’s throat as the woman traced feathery light touches down her neck to her exposed collarbone to --

Ethel stumbled backwards. Hiding herself from view, she collapsed against the nearest wall, her heavy footfalls muffled by the carpet and her hand smothering her shaky breaths. It seemed like the world was closing in on her, as if everything from the last few hours was turning on its axis, revealing it all to be a cruel mirage, a fantasy.

Her mum was….

Ethel felt her pulse jumping erratically beneath her skin.

Her mum was … getting married.

\-----------

Ethel paced frenetically around the room. She needed to talk to Mildred _now_. Biting her lower lip, Ethel waited agonizing seconds, staring blindly at her sister’s reflection, until her own face appeared in the mirror. Dressed cozily in a pajama set, Mildred sat cross-legged on the floor of Ethel’s room with Morgana seated comfortably on her lap. Fingers combing nervously through her damp blond hair, Mildred gazed out at her with a worried expression.

“Ethie, what’s wrong?”

“We have a problem,” Ethel started frantically. “A _major_ problem.”

“Did mum find out?”

Ethel shook her head. “No, Mum is…mum’s getting married!” she despaired.

“What?” Instantly, Mildred’s expression transformed from one of worry to incredulity as she scrunched her nose skeptically. “That’s insane! Mum has barely dated, and she’s never mentioned anyone to me at all.”

“Well, there’s someone now.”

“Who?”

“I—I don’t know her name. I think they work together? She’s Latinx, and she’s gorgeous, and—” Ethel watched as her sister furrowed her brow in a vain attempt to match her description to a name before shaking her head in staunch disbelief. “—and they’re making out downstairs right now!” Ethel near-yelled as if that was damning proof enough.

“Ewww,” Mildred stuck her tongue out in distaste. “Thanks for that image. But is that all?”

 _Is that all?_ Ethel practically screamed in her mind. She felt like she was hyperventilating. “I think mum’s planning to tell me tomorrow, and I don’t know what to do, Millie! I just met the woman! Millie, what do I do?” Ethel asked her sister beseechingly, in a total and complete panic.

“Whoaa,” Mildred placated as if she could read her sister’s thoughts, her hands raised in the mirror as if calming a skittish horse. “Breathe, Ethie. I promise you it’s not serious. I’ve only been gone for two months, and I’ve never even heard of this woman. Maybe they’re dating, but there’s no way mum’s getting married. You’re reading way too much into this.”

Ethel did not think there was much room for interpretation as she tried to push away the intrusive memory of her mum kissing the younger witch. 

“You had me worried,” Mildred continued with a nonsensical giggle of relief. “Anyway, Ethie, you would not believe the day I’ve had! Mother is wonderful. We went on a picnic, and we talked about mum. And she told me all about how mum taught her how to love--” her sister rambled on before Ethel harshly cut her off.

“Millie, would you listen to me?” she snapped.

“I thought I just … did?” her sister asked with a confused frown upon her face.

“Millie, you have to bring mother here. Immediately,” she ordered. She watched as Mildred visibly flinched at the prospect, but Ethel knew there was no other option. She needed the reinforcements, and she knew she would feel much better once Mildred and mother were here. Then they could formulate a plan. A new plan. A better plan. Together.

But Mildred seemed to have her own thoughts on the matter. “No! Ethie, I am not telling mother. I’ve waited years to meet her, and I’ve only had one day alone with her. We agreed to a week, and I’m not giving mother up before then. I won’t!”

“Millie--,” Ethel began to protest when Mildred obviously turned her head in the direction of a phantom voice.

“Listen, I hear mother calling.”

Ethel heard nothing. “Millie--” she tried again. 

“I have to go, but it’s fine. Just … stall,” her sister suggested simply before vanishing from the glass.

Ethel stared helplessly into the empty mirror. “Thanks for nothing, Millie.”

_Stall, right._

_Easy._

_…_

_HOW IN THE WORLD WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO DO THAT?_

Ethel cradled her head in her hands. Mildred had been no help at all, and for the first time in a long time, she felt utterly alone.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Ethel awoke to a slew of mirror messages.

Felicity had responded to her call for advice immediately, her message dotted with far too many emphatic capitals for Ethel’s taste. “Stepmothers are EVIL. You’ve just got to show your mum her TRUE COLORS. P.S. If you want to talk, let me know. I’m SOOO BORED.”

Enid’s message was similarly unhelpful, “Submarine her.”

What was that supposed to mean? Her text was followed by a mischievous smiley face emoji and a frightening list of pranks, many of which seemed to involve dragging the woman into the woods and leaving her to the mercy of wild animals.

In a stunning about-face, Maud hedged, “It was a long shot to begin with. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Maybe it’s not meant to be,” and her betrayal only stung all the more with her next question. “What does Millie think?” Ethel could not even begin to think about Mildred’s dismissive response from the night before. Sisters forever, she scoffed, burying her hurt deep beneath thick layers of irritation.

Ever sweet Sapphire was her only comfort. “That’s horrible, Ethel. My mum never remarried after dad died, but maybe it won’t be so bad. You still get your mum, right?” But even her words felt bittersweet and naïve. Her mum was building a new life, and with all these changes, Ethel did not see how there would be room for her and mother too.

Uncorking her second dose of the Transformation Potion, Ethel swallowed the light red liquid in one gulp. Feeling it settle into her system, she pensively stared out the window, taking care to avoid her borrowed reflection in the mirror, as she pondered how exactly she was supposed to stall. After a restful night’s sleep, she felt a little calmer but just barely and still had no idea what to do.

Ethel thought she could hear muffled laughter and murmuring voices coming from the kitchen. At the very least, she knew that the last thing she needed right now was to see her mum and that woman fawning over one another. She felt like she might burst into tears just thinking about it, so in a deliberate effort to avoid that unpleasant and inexplicable encounter, Ethel dawdled the morning away, drawing out her shower and belaboring her outfit for the day until she heard the front door latch and silence descend upon the apartment. Stepping cautiously out into the hall, she was startled by a bright sparkling banner, shouting “Welcome Home, Millie!” across the living room wall. In the kitchen, she spied a small note on the counter. Written in a messy scrawl, it read:

 _Hey kiddo, your mum and I missed you for breakfast this morning. Your mum’s got some meetings today, so I’ve got you through lunch. I’m down in the kitchens and could use an extra pair of hands and an honorary taste-tester, so come on down when you’re ready! – Uncle Ollie_

Ethel breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve. She was curious to meet Uncle Ollie, considering she supposedly had half his genes, and welcomed the distraction. Taking out her handy map, Ethel found her way to the school kitchens. The delicious scent of freshly baked sweets told her she was close.

The spacious kitchen was a chef’s dream, all gleaming appliances and vaulted ceilings. Shiny copper pots and pans hung over a long island, which boasted a tower of sprinkled cupcakes, buttery pastries, and delicate handcrafted truffles. Bustling around the room was a sure-footed man in chinos and a crisp dress shirt, his entire appearance immaculate save for the messy flour handprints tracked all across his soiled apron, as he alternated his attention between checking on a batch of pastries in the oven and carefully laying out a trellis of dough atop a strawberry rhubarb pie.

“Uncle Ollie?” Ethel called out tentatively.

“Millie!” Immediately dusting off his floured hands, the man bounded across the room and scooped her up into a bear hug.

“Uncle Ollie!” Ethel indignantly exclaimed on pure instinct. Her entire front was now covered in streaks of flour, frosting, and a few sticky pieces of dough.

Eyebrows creeping up his forehead in amusement, the wizard let out a hearty guffaw at her outrage. “Sorry about that. I'm just so excited to see you. Let's get you cleaned up.” With a snap of his fingers, her shirtfront was spotless once more. “Where's your apron, Millie?”

Ethel stared speechlessly back at the man, who seemed to expect some sort of reply. She suspected this was what her classmates felt like when they forgot their homework. She never forgot her homework, and this was exactly why. Ethel landed on the unoriginal but all-purpose, “I-I-I couldn’t find it.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he joked, and with another wave of his hand, an apron nearly identical to his own appeared around her waist.

“Now you don’t have to worry about spilling.” Ethel already felt thrown off-balance by the wizard’s familiarity, and yet, the man’s easy smile seemed to elicit one of her own in return.

“What are you making?” Ethel asked curiously, inching closer to the table.

“Ah, well, a little bit of everything. Your mum’s got me finalizing the dessert menu for the gala and has given you and me pretty much carte-blanche. I whipped up an assortment of cupcakes this morning, popped the pastries in the oven a few minutes ago, and well, the pie’s just for us,” he stage-whispered. “Then, I’ll need your help starting the ice cream before Lucy stops by to sort out the recipe for the magic bit. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten breakfast yet, right?” At the sheepish shake of Ethel’s head, Uncle Ollie suggested, “Why don’t you go grab a fork and help me dig into these? And you can tell me whether Camp Walden was worth eight weeks away from your favorite uncle.”

While the wizard busied himself putting the pie in the oven, Ethel surreptitiously pulled open one drawer after another after another in search of the elusive forks. On her third attempt, rows of shiny tines peered up at her. Grabbing two, she perched eagerly on one of the island stools to bite into a flaky croissant and help herself to some fresh fruit.

A few hours later, they had several tubs of homemade ice cream chilling in the freezer, and Ethel had cleaned her plate of every delicious crumb as she finished telling Uncle Ollie about field day, foraging in the forest, and the disastrous broomstick race, the clouds becoming more ominous, the cliffs steeper, and the unfortunate Annie all the more comical, egged on by the evident glee twinkling in her godfather’s eyes.

“Camp Walden for Girls,” he reminisced wistfully. “I’ve heard so many stories from your mum, my sister, now you, and each time, it just seems better and better. You know, I almost tried to sneak in once, but,” pointing to himself, Uncle Ollie continued, “I didn’t really blend in.”

Giggling, Ethel asked, “Where’s mum?” before realizing she probably did not want to know the answer.

“Working too hard, if you ask me, fretting about the start of school, and,” turning his head to check the cooling racks behind him, he tutted, “Look at that, she took all the donuts.” Shaking his head with a small sigh, her godfather took a beat before glancing back at Ethel with a smile. “I think with you starting this year, she just wants to make sure everything’s perfect. Will you see any of your friends at Selection Day?”

If he would have asked her yesterday, Ethel would have felt almost certain she would, but what a difference a day makes. Where would she be in the fall? A gloomy picture of her alone at Amethyst’s Academy dimmed her spirits.

Meeting the wizard’s kind eyes, she mumbled, “I think so. They said their parents all enrolled them for the fall.”

“Then, why so glum, kiddo? Isn’t that good news?” Ethel tamped down a heavy sigh under her godfather’s concerned gaze.

“Uncle Ollie, you've known my mum for a long time, right?”

“For as long as I can remember.”

Ethel was not sure what she wanted to say or even what she could say without revealing everything. She just knew she needed to talk to someone. “I just ...” she helplessly searched for words. “It feels like everything's changing.”

“Is this about Vic?” Uncle Ollie probed gently. “I thought your mum was going to introduce you this afternoon. Look, I think you should talk to your mum, but I can tell you this, just because she's getting married doesn't mean anything's going to change between you two.”

Vic. Ethel attached the name to the woman she had seen last night. Vic, the woman who had ruined her life.

“I saw them ... last night,” she confessed with tears brimming in her eyes.

Her godfather winced. He could only imagine what the girl must have seen when the two witches thought they were alone. “That must've been a shock. Mil, I know it's a lot to take in, but you're still the most important person in her life. And your mum loves you to pieces.”

Ethel could hardly take the words in. She only wished that were true. Mildred’s mum had patched up her every scraped knee, attended even the smallest of cottage school graduations, but Ethel’s mum? She was only a woman in a magazine.

“Do you think she’s happy… with Vic?” Ethel asked quietly.

“Another good question for your mum,” the man replied with a thoughtful look. “But I think she is. I haven't seen her like this since....” As he trailed off, Ethel sat up straighter in her seat, her heart fluttering in her chest with something like a twinge of hope.

“Since when?”

“Well,” he hedged. Reaching over to tousle her hair, he teased, “Since you were a lot younger, rosy-cheeked and getting into all sorts of trouble with ... other little tykes your age. Things you probably don’t remember,” he added in an odd tone, tugging her in for an unexpected hug.

“You mean since my mother?”

The levity seemed to drop from his voice, his eyes taking on a more serious look, as he gently confirmed, “Yeah, since your mother.”

“So they were happy?” There were so many things Ethel wanted to know, things no one would ever tell her, but maybe Uncle Ollie would.

The wizard gave her a soft smile. “Oh, very. They were like salt and pepper. You'd almost never see one without the other. And when you came along, well, they were over the moon.”

“Were they in love? What happened? Why did they break -?”

Uncle Ollie laughed at the sudden onslaught of questions, and the tension drained from the room. “You're full of questions today. Those might all be good ones for your mum too. But, Millie, that was a long time ago, and Vic, I think she's good for your mum. A breath of fresh air.”

Ethel was struggling to find a way to direct the conversation back to her mother when Aunt Lucy breezed into the room, a flurry of bright blue trailing behind her as she transferred mid-stride. Donning large, round glasses today with her hair piled up on her head in a messy bun, she looked completely different from the woman Ethel had met the day before. 

“What's a breath of fresh air?” she asked, chomping on the half-eaten apple in her hand as she plopped down next to Ethel. Eagerly pushing up the sleeves of her oversized, open-weave sweater, and resting her elbows on the table, her eyes widened as she waggled her eyebrows with intrigue. “Oh, are we talking about Vic? I have _so_ many thoughts.”

Uncle Ollie quickly cut in, “Oh, I don’t think Millie needs to hear any of those.”

Her thoughts desperately grasping onto Aunt Lucy like a lifeline, Ethel near-shouted, “No!” before steadying her voice. “I-I want to. I-I could use a second opinion,” she added, biting her lip in embarrassment as she steadfastly avoided Uncle Ollie’s bemused expression. “What do you think, Aunt Lucy?”

Smirking playfully at the dismayed wizard, the witch said glibly, “Well, you don’t need to ask me twice. It’s not that I don’t like Vic. Don’t get me wrong. I do. Vic’s great. I just… Pippa’s not like me or Maureen or even you,” she nodded her chin at Ethel’s godfather, “with your serial monogamy for that matter. How’s Charles? Or is it René?”

Uncle Ollie chuckled as he started pulling bins of ice cream out of the freezer. “Don’t drag me into it.”

“But you know what I mean,” Aunt Lucy rolled her eyes. “She’s not one to get swept up in a whirlwind romance. She deals in forever, you know? Vic’s jet-setting around the world, and Pippa’s more a cup of hot tea and a chessboard most nights, if she had the choice. She’s a mum and a headmistress, not some spur-of-the-moment thirty-something, looking for her next adventure. It’s just different life stages,” the witch shrugged, emphatically taking another big bite out of her apple as if she had settled her case.

“You’re hardly a day older than forty yourself, and there’s nothing wrong with a little romance. You should try it sometime, Luce,” the wizard tossed back.

“It’s not her age I’m worried about,” Aunt Lucy raised her hands in defense, ignoring the dig on romance altogether. “All I’m saying is, what’s the rush?”

“Well, I, for one, think Vic’s good for her,” Uncle Ollie asserted. Passing a container of ice cream over to the witch, he asked, “What do you think?”

“It took a few tries for me to figure out the right balance to preserve the flavor and consistency, but I think this should do it,” Aunt Lucy said, effortlessly materializing a few vials out of the air. As she poured in half of one into the rich, dark chocolate below, Ethel saw a light mist emerge from the container as the mixture crackled against the frozen surface.

“You don’t think mum should get married….?” Ethel broached, the implied “either” hovering unspoken between them.

Allowing the potion to do its work, Aunt Lucy redirected her attention to Ethel with a sympathetic smile. “No, Millie, I don’t. A summer fling does not a marriage make. They’ve both got stars in their eyes, if you ask me.”

“Has anyone … else,” Uncle Ollie added with a nod to Ethel, “asked you?” he teased, to which the woman barked out a laugh and shrugged, as if confident that anyone should be so lucky as to receive the privilege of her unsolicited advice.

“How long do you think it will take?” he said, gesturing to the ice cream.

“Only a few seconds. The reaction should be pretty immediate. Let’s taste it and see.” Conjuring three spoons and bowls with a wave of her hand, Aunt Lucy scooped a generous spoonful of the dark chocolate into each one as the bowls floated away towards their respective owners. “Millie, how is it?”

Ethel took a large spoonful and found herself … underwhelmed. It tasted like dark chocolate ice cream, deliciously creamy dark chocolate ice cream but nothing particularly extraordinary and certainly no different from when she first tried it an hour ago. “It’s, uh, really good.”

Across from her, Uncle Ollie nodded far more enthusiastically, “Tastes exactly the same. Perfect! Last time René and I tried it, it got too goopy, and he wants to make sure we impress this weekend.” Ethel felt like she was missing something.

“Now, we just have to give it a few minutes to see if it worked,” Aunt Lucy observed, eyeing her untouched bowl experimentally.

“Anyway, back to Vic,” her godfather cautioned. “Let's not poison the well. Millie hasn’t even met the woman properly yet.”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything here that I haven’t already said to Pippa,” the witch retorted. “And I think Millie's smart enough to make up her own mind,” Aunt Lucy declared, clinking spoons with Ethel in smug solidarity.

“You have to admit that she’s happy though.”

Ethel waited with bated breath.

“I can admit that. She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her, and I think Pippa needs a little more fun in her life and deserves all the happiness in the world, especially with this one growing up.” Aunt Lucy beamed at her fondly. “But,” the witch seemed for once to take a measured breath, as if carefully weighing her words. “There’s more to a relationship than chemistry and compatibility, and I just don’t know if they really want the same things. I don’t even know if they’ve sat down and had an honest conversation about it.”

An honest conversation about what, Ethel wondered, hoping Aunt Lucy would clarify. What did her mum want? But the witch seemed content to let her words lie. Ethel looked to her godfather, but the wizard too seemed in tacit agreement and suspiciously preoccupied with the progress of the mysterious potion.

“How’s it looking?” Uncle Ollie asked persistently.

Picking up a spoonful, Aunt Lucy scrutinized it thoroughly from every angle, although Ethel did not know from how many angles one really needed to study an unremarkable scoop of ice cream. “It looks good. Now for stage 2, we can either leave it out or up the ante. I recommend leaving it out to test it in the natural environment since that’ll most accurately simulate the conditions on--”

However, before the witch could finish her thought, Uncle Ollie had summoned forth a ball of energy to engulf the bowl in focused flames. Ethel flinched back in surprise, gripping her stool to keep from falling off, while Aunt Lucy merely rolled her eyes at the showy burst of magic. “So impatient.”

Quenching the flames with a fist, Uncle Ollie revealed the bowl of dark chocolate ice cream, still miraculously fully intact and cold to the touch. Ethel smiled slowly in dawning realization, “It’s un-melting ice cream!”

“Of course, it is,” Aunt Lucy stated matter-of-factly. “Now, let’s get out the good stuff. I want some rum raisin!” the woman declared to unanimous groans.

\-----------

Meanwhile, over at the Honeybee, Mildred was elbow-deep in a cauldron in the back room as she kneeled up on a stool to stir a vivid pink concoction.

After ending the call with Ethel, Mildred had tossed and turned before finally falling asleep, not out of any concern for her mum – she knew her mum would never spring a surprise engagement on her – but guilt towards her sister. Ethel had a tendency to overreact, and Mildred could only hope that a restful night’s sleep had given her better perspective. Mildred would make it up to her. Somehow.

Besides the slight hiccup with Ethel, Mildred was in high spirits; her mother was everything she could have hoped for and more. Her morning had started bright and early with her mother calling her down to join her at the Honeybee for the day. Swallowing her last dose of the deep purple Transformation Potion, Mildred had rolled out of bed, her hair mussed from sleep but excited to start the day. 

Her mother had asked for her help with a handful of tasks, while she tended to some early deliveries, and Mildred had jumped on it with gusto. Maybe even a little too much gusto, if Morgana’s nerves were anything to go by. She may have already bumped into a few tables, which may have led to a few unsteady flasks shattering on the floor, and also knocked into a few shelves, upsetting a half-open container of chia seeds mid-dispensation, but Mildred was no stranger to accidental bruises; the glass had been cleared with a simple sweep of the hand from her startled mother; and the chia seeds were easily sanitized as Mildred continued her task of filling little pouches for sale with the tiny black grains. So no one was any worse for wear, excepting poor Morgana, who seemed to have taken it upon herself to act as Mildred’s unofficial guardian. All morning, the protective familiar had followed around its new charge with a penchant for mayhem, and Mildred had gotten used to the slight nudge of the cat’s lithe body as she steered her away from cabinets containing fragile Mason jars and the weight of a gentle paw on her knee or arm when her sleeve hovered too close to a burning flame or her feet tapped dangerously near the path of her mother’s steps.

Mildred was now mid-way through her next task, brewing a new batch of the Sleeping Draught potion. Upon passing a recently emptied display case, her mother had added the potion to the list without a second thought. It seemed Ethel was frequently tapped to brew the less involved potions at the apothecary when her mother was short-handed, and Mildred was immensely grateful that Aunt Lucy had taught her the basics of the common Form 1 potion earlier this year. She had even shared with her some modern twists on the classic spell to enhance its potency and improve the sleep experience. Mixing in two strands of unicorn hair sweetened dreams, while six drops of kiwi extract lightly simmered for twenty minutes imbued the sleeper with a touch of refreshment upon waking. Mildred’s personal favorite was a dollop of raw honey stirred in hourly intervals, which had made the Sleeping Draught so much tastier and easier to swallow when she had been recovering from a painful ear infection last winter. From the instructions, Mildred could tell that the Honeybee offered the traditional blend; however, she was itching to try her hand at some of Aunt Lucy’s adaptations.

“Mother?” Mildred attracted her mother’s attention.

Looking up from her ledger, where she had been reconciling the apothecary’s sales numbers from the last quarter, her mother replied, “What is it, Ethel?”

“I was thinking…” At her mother’s encouraging nod, Mildred rushed on, “would it be okay if I tried something different with the Sleeping Draught?”

“Different how?” her mother queried curiously with a raised eyebrow.

As Mildred spilled out Aunt Lucy’s variations on the potion, tumbled together with a few ideas of her own, her mother’s eyebrows inched ever higher in astonishment and swelling pride for her young daughter.

“Those are quite creative, Ethel. I don’t see why not. As long as you still brew the original potion, I’m fine with you engaging in a little … supervised experimentation.” Her mother immediately pulled three more cauldrons from below the counter for Mildred’s use and demonstrated a simple incantation to split and transfer the bright pink liquid into two cauldrons, which Mildred successfully imitated after a couple tries. “Wherever did you learn such advanced potion making techniques, Ethel? I don’t think I saw any potions courses in the Camp Walden brochure.” 

For once, Mildred had anticipated the question and thought she had a most perfect explanation. “There was this girl at camp, who brought all these textbooks from home. Her mum’s a botanist. And we thought we’d practice some potion making during free time, so that’s where I learned it!”

“Seems like you met a kindred spirit,” her mother replied amusedly, “and gained a useful skill too. Show me what you come up with later this afternoon, and as long as they still maintain the integrity of the original, we can see how well they meet our customers’ needs. Ada’s always trying to convince me to _branch out_ ,” her mother drily enunciated the words as if they left a bitter taste in her mouth, “so I suppose this may satisfy her for now.”

Eagerly scrounging through the supply cupboard for ingredients, an anxious Morgana at her heels, Mildred made a mental note of where she could find each of the items for the Transformation Potion that she would need to brew later that night. The mere anticipation of having to break into her mother’s shop after hours left her jittery, and before she knew it, she was overcome by a small hurricane of feathers, her elbow having managed to clumsily tip a loosely-bound pile of fresh, uncut quills to the ground. Morgana meowed with quiet distress as white, pristine feathers fluttered slowly down around her. 

\-----------

“Ethel, you’re back!”

Mildred turned from the shelf she was dusting at the sound of her sister’s name and an enthusiastic tap on her shoulder. Behind her stood a tall girl about her age, a broad grin stretched across her face.

Mildred’s mind, unfortunately, drew a complete blank as to the girl’s name. “Yup,” she responded generically, awkwardly returning the girl’s smile as she attempted to mask her confusion.

The girl gestured to her basket of purchases. “We’re here shopping for school. We just got the supply list from Amethyst’s,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Did you get yours yet?”

Mildred scanned the list of standard Form 1 witching supplies, curious to see what other schools required. “Uh, no, not yet. Pentangle’s usually sends it out closer to Selection Day.”

“Your mother’s letting you go to Pentangle’s?” the girl exclaimed.

Mildred’s head jerked up. Another instance of her foot-in-mouth syndrome. But maybe, this was how she could make it up to Ethel. Her sister did not often confide in her about her fears, but Mildred knew she was worried about whether mother would let her attend Pentangle’s Academy this fall. 

Thankful for the idea, Mildred admitted cheekily, “Not yet, but I’m working on it.” In an odd turn of events, Mildred’s optimism seemed to deflate the other girl’s spirits.

At that moment, Ada passed by, carrying a box of inventory to the register for sorting. “Drusilla, it’s so good to see you.” To the no-nonsense witch tapping her fingers on the counter, she cordially addressed, “Mrs. Paddock, what can I help you with this afternoon?”

Drusilla! That was the girl’s name, Mildred realized, connecting the face to Ethel’s only and closest friend in the neighborhood. “Who knows?” she conjectured sympathetically as she watched the girl’s face fall, Mildred’s plans dashing all her hopes for a friendly face at Amethyst’s. “Maybe your folks will change their minds after the first year and send you to Pentangle’s.”

After a few more stories and the promise to mirror soon, Mildred waved goodbye to a disappointed Drusilla, whose shuffling steps stood in stark contrast to her mother’s brisk gait as she exited the store.

The sound of the tinkling bell soon signaled the arrival of another customer, and Mildred was surprised to see her mother stepping out of the back room to welcome the newcomer. From her few hours at the Honeybee, it had quickly become apparent to Mildred that her mother and godmother had devised a clear division of duties that best fit their individual personalities. Ada oversaw the front of the apothecary. On a first-name basis with many of the regulars, asking after families and knowledgeable about their purchasing histories, Ada handled all customer interactions and inquiries. Her mother, on the other hand, was often deferentially referred to as “Miss Hardbroom” and was rarely seen beyond the threshold of the back room, most comfortable around bubbling cauldrons and the solid numbers held within the thick, leather ledgers of the apothecary’s meticulous accounts.

“Dayo! 3 o’clock on the dot,” her mother warmly greeted the witch within the otherwise quiet shop.

Clad in a full traveling cloak despite the summer heat, the witch swept off her pointed hat to embrace her mother with a perfunctory kiss to the cheek.

“Oh, you know me. I’m a busy woman without a moment to waste on others’ tardiness.”

“Well, your usual order is ready and waiting. Don’t let me hold you, Miss Doomstone,” her mother replied in kind, only the small smile curling at the edge of her lips giving away her professional tone.

“Hecate, I always have time for you.”

And with that, the two old friends squirreled away in a discreet corner, reminiscing about sunny days at Amethyst’s Academy, long hours holed up in the potions labs of Weirdsister College, and the magical community’s most recent publications on the newly discovered properties of various elixirs. Her mother, absorbed in the company of her oldest friend, Ifedayo Doomstone, seemed to transform before Mildred’s very eyes into a different version of herself, almost grander in stature and exuding a quiet but unshakeable self-assurance in her considerable abilities. Mildred knew that Hecate Hardbroom, esteemed potioneer and the former potions mistress of Weirdsister College, had once been on track to become one of the most sought-after potion makers in all of witching society, and her mum had often described her mother as the “witchiest witch I ever knew.”

Amid catching up, her mother reviewed the contents of the comprehensive order – several flasks of healing tonic to treat an array of minor ailments, a must-have for her friend’s many nieces and nephews – “And my oldest’s headed off to university this year,” “Already, you don’t say. I feel like it was just yesterday you were preparing him for his exams”; cerulean vials flavored with peppermint to reduce her sister-in-law’s nausea; and a golden solution to better cope with that time of the month – “I can’t have my girls falling behind because of the banes of biology,” “Absolutely not,” her mother agreed wholeheartedly – to the witch’s great satisfaction.

Sighting Mildred standing in her unobtrusive spot by the far shelves, Dayo motioned her eagerly over. “Ethel, my how you’ve grown. I hear you’re starting school this year. As always, Amethyst’s Academy received top rank by the Magic Council as the foremost school for young witches,” the woman boasted proudly, “and I have no doubt you’ll be a credit to the long line of Hardbrooms, who’ve graced its halls.”

Silently thanking the witch for the opening, Mildred took her chance and blurted out earnestly, “I heard Pentangle’s was a close second this year, even surpassing Amethyst’s long-held record of highest marks in the core subjects of potions and chanting.” She vividly recalled when the annual school inspection results had been delivered. Champagne flutes flowing and the school song bellowed by a chorus of unsteady voices, her mum and the other faculty had celebrated into the wee hours of the morning.

At both her mother and her friend’s equally startled faces, Mildred gave a small shrug, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment at the focused attention. “It’s a matter of public record,” or so she had been told by an exuberant Aunt Lucy, who had been giddy with triumph at the vindication of their oft-dismissed modern teaching methods.

Clearly impressed, Dayo acknowledged, “It is indeed, but I would wager most witches and wizards wouldn’t know those facts, let alone most eleven-year-olds. You are truly your mother’s daughter. I applaud your passion for quality education, Ethel.”

Although chuffed at the compliment, Mildred tensed as her mother merely studied her with an unreadable expression, breaking her intent silence only to ask, “Honey, would you give me and Dayo a minute?”

With a quick nod and a hug from her mother’s friend, Mildred scooted away. Ada was engaged in conversation with some customers up front, and dusting had been the last item on her list. So Mildred decided to pull up a stool and sketch some sprigs of lavender lain out on the counter to dry in her hopes of overhearing a little of her mother’s conversation.

“That reminds me,” Dayo delicately mentioned, “I hear Weirdsister has a new potions post opening up next semester. Geronima asked me to forward the message in case you wanted to return to teaching. It goes without saying that you would be an impeccable candidate, and Geronima would defer to your expertise. She knows as well as anyone that you would have been appointed Deputy Head in her place if you had not resigned.”

Her mother declined with a definitive shake of her head, “You know I never wanted any of that.”

“With Ethel going off to school, I had imagined you might be open to a change,” the witch offered by way of explanation.

Her mother’s reply was soft but firm. “This is my home now, Dayo. Mine and Ethel’s.”

“And speaking of Ethel, where will she be this fall?” Her mother avoided her friend’s probing eyes as she persisted. “If not Amethyst’s, then --“

Her mother closed her eyes as if suddenly pained, and Dayo’s mouth snapped shut in self-reproach. For her part, Mildred shifted her gaze back to her sketchbook to afford her mother a modicum of privacy.

“Hecate,” she heard the witch gently broach after a remorseful breath.

Mildred stared unseeingly at the white page before her, perked ears awaiting her mother’s response, but for several seconds, there was nothing but a lengthy silence. Mildred almost dared to look up when she heard her mother finally murmur, “Don’t pity me, Dayo.”

“Never,” her mother’s oldest friend affirmed. “We’ve both had a tough go of it at times, but we always make it through.”

It was not the answer Mildred had been hoping for and raised more questions than she knew what to do with, but the two witches seemed to consider the matter closed and did not return to the topic for the remainder of their visit. And so, Mildred forced herself to accept the situation as it stood. At least, her mother had not confirmed Amethyst’s Academy, and for today, Mildred would take that for a win as she tasked herself with convincing her mother that Ethel belonged at Pentangle’s.

Sometime later, Mildred had drafted several angles of the dried lavender sprigs and moved on to capturing the texture of fragrant mint leaves when Dayo re-settled her hat, scooped up her packages, and headed towards the door. After a quick farewell to Mildred, the departing witch called out, “Hecate, will we see you and Ethel at the barbecue this weekend?”

“I’m afraid not,” her mother precipitously declined. “Ethel and I are scheduled for our annual camping trip.”

Dayo tsk-ed in mild disapproval. “Well, one of these days, Hecate Hardbroom.”

“Of course, schedule ---”

“Schedule permitting, you’d be glad to attend next year. Thank you for the generous invitation,” the witch mimicked resignedly. “Well, no one can accuse you of poor manners, however insincere.”

Her mother looked almost affronted as she sniffed primly, “I should hope not, but I do thank you, Dayo, for everything,” and with a final fond wave to her friend, the witch took her leave.

“Those are quite good, Ethel.” Engrossed in her illustrations, Mildred did not hear her godmother’s approach, and in her haphazard attempt to hide her papers away, she jostled the pyramid of hand creams stacked on the counter. Morgana had barely uttered the beginnings of a long-suffering meow when her mother instantly appeared, snapping her fingers to save the glass jars from a disastrous fate.

“Ethel, where is your mind today?” Her mother questioned, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Mother, are we really going camping this weekend?” Mildred redirected as she quickly crouched to collect the scattered papers into a neat pile, but she was not swift enough to avoid either her mother or Ada’s astute gaze.

“Oh, I just said that to appease Dayo, but actually, we may have to plan a trip soon to replenish the stores before the rainstorms next week,” her mother noted distractedly. “Ethel, these are very well-depicted.”

Ada chimed in, “Your mother and I were discussing just this morning how we need to spruce up the shop. Perhaps you two could think up something during your trip.”

Her mother arched an eyebrow. “Yes, perhaps something both aesthetic _and_ informative,” she rejoined pointedly at her business partner.

“Like … signs for ingredients?” Mildred suggested excitedly.

“Yes, exactly,” her mother nodded approvingly, “something just like that,” and as she turned on her heel to return to the haven of her office, Ada gave Mildred an encouraging wink.

She was going camping with mother! Mildred could not wait.

\-----------

That night, Mildred was too anxious to even pretend to sleep, her mind running relentlessly through Ethel’s instructions to counteract the security measures in place at the Honeybee. _Of flesh and heart, my hand the sign, undo the locks of her design._ Mildred repeated the incantation from memory for the umpteenth time, her trembling hands following the intricate patterns her sister had taught her only a few short days ago.

Restless, Mildred crawled out of bed and plopped in front of her sister’s immense bookshelf in search of a little light reading to distract herself. Skipping over the many rows of textbooks, her eyes landed on the bottom shelf of magazine back issues and flying books. _The Balancing Act: The Dual Elements of Breath and Flight in Broomstick Waterskiing_. _Winning Witch Ball Strategies_. Mildred scanned the various titles until she decided on _Advanced Flying Techniques_. As she tipped the book’s spine to pull it out, the whole bottom row seemed to flicker ominously for a moment. Mildred hastily scooted backwards before recognizing the signs of a basic glamour spell giving way to reveal the shelf’s true contents. Nestled between sporadic flying titles was a familiar compilation of hardcover books, carefully preserved and each embossed with the same name. _An Introduction to Modern Chanting_ by Pippa Pentangle. _Colorful Harmony: Modern Chanting for the Modern Student_ by Pippa Pentangle. _Songs of History: The Oral Traditions of Ancient Civilizations_ by Pippa Pentangle. By Pippa Pentangle. By Pippa Pentangle.

Faced with Ethel’s extensive collection of literary contraband, clearly the work of several years, Mildred felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over her for cutting her sister off the night before. All she had wanted was a few more days alone with mother. She only hoped that Ethel was okay.


	11. Chapter 11

Ethel was decidedly not okay.

The illusive ease of her carefree morning with Uncle Ollie and Aunt Lucy had come crashing down around her with a ding from her godfather’s maglet signaling the arrival of the dreaded message from her mum.

Summoning her to the pool.

To officially meet Vic.

Ethel was good at avoidance. She was great at avoidance, pushing her feelings so far down inside, she hardly knew them herself anymore. After all, she had learned from the best.

So Ethel had tried what she knew, dragging her feet as she had carried every dirty dish and plate, pan and spoon to the kitchen sinks, balancing bowls and cupcake tins piled high one on top of another, while the two adults had talked around her. Ready to plunge her hands into soapy suds to waste away at least half an hour, Ethel had been mere steps away from the sink on her last trip when Aunt Lucy had abruptly pushed her chair back to stand to her feet. Acting on pure instinct, Ethel had only just managed to dodge out of the way by breaking into an elegant hop and skip as she had pirouetted her tray of cream-covered cutlery to safety. Pleased with herself, she could not help but preen a little. Turning towards her audience, Ethel had stopped short at the sight of Aunt Lucy and Uncle Ollie staring back at her with their mouths agape. Her hands falling limp at her own ill-timed vanity, she had immediately dropped the tray.

Thanks to a burst of reflexive magic springing from the older witch’s fingertips, the tray had glided smoothly to the counter with the smallest of clatters, but not an eye had missed Ethel’s, Mildred’s, unbelievable feat of grace as Aunt Lucy had incredulously remarked, “It’s like you went off to camp and came back from finishing school!”

Deciding ignorance the best course of action, Ethel had blandly returned their confused looks and instead focused her attention on searching for some kitchen gloves to continue her task until Uncle Ollie had gently asked, “Millie, whatcha doing?”

“Washing the dishes,” Ethel had casually responded, finally locating the little-used gloves in an awkward space underneath the sink. “I couldn’t possibly leave without helping you clean up. We’ve made such a mess.”

“Kiddo, don’t worry about that. I’ve got it,” the wizard had replied, and with a wave of his hands, the kitchen sink Ethel had so painstakingly filled with crusted pots and pans had been cleared in an instant, leaving her staring into nothing but glinting steel as spotless mixing bowls and rubber spatulas were magicked back to their places, the tower of sweets on the island the only evidence of the baking from the past few hours.

“Right,” Ethel had acknowledged numbly. Regrouping, she had gestured down at her flour-covered clothes. “I’ll just pop into the shower then.”

At that, the adults had shared another quizzical glance. Uncle Ollie had stepped forward to untie the apron strings around her waist. As the apron dropped into her godfather’s hand, the zigzagging tracks of flour and promising glops of dough and frosting too had disappeared. Stating the obvious, the wizard had simply said, “I think you’re all set there.”

Trudging slowly down the hallway, Ethel had never hated magic more. She had consoled herself with the length of the walk and the castle’s many winding passageways, thanking the Code for marking the transferences of others without their consent a violation of the gravest degree. The well-meaning wizard had called out after her, “All you need is your bathing suit, and try not to keep your mum waiting too long.”

If she could help it, Ethel had thought to herself, her mum would be waiting a very long time.

Now the moment of truth was here. Changed into a simple one-piece, a towel slung over her shoulder, Ethel wrapped her arms self-consciously around her middle as she peered out at the massive deck that housed Pentangle’s Olympic-size pool. At first glance, the deck appeared blissfully empty, her mum nowhere to be seen, but as she stepped out onto the deck, she heard the telltale clink of ice cubes falling against a glass tumbler. There lounging beneath a wide umbrella was the very last person Ethel wanted to see. Ethel was tempted to make a run for it when the brunette witch seemed to spy her entrance.

Breaking into a friendly smile, the woman said, “You must be Millie! Your mum just went to grab a hat and some towels for us, but I see you’re already prepared. I’m Vic, by the way. Well met.” Pretending not to see the woman’s hand raised to her forehead in polite greeting, Ethel turned her back on the older witch and busied herself with the complex task of laying out her towel on the farthest most lounge chair and the one closest to the water. Undeterred, the woman merely shifted to a nearer chair. “I’ve been helping your mum with the gala this weekend.”

Her towel neatly laid, Ethel could not think of anything else to forestall a reply, barring outright rudeness. “Are you an event planner?” Perhaps the woman would be gone with the weekend, at least in a professional capacity, and with that pleasant thought, Ethel took a running leap to cannonball into the pool without warning, splashing a wave of refreshingly cool water over the sides and onto whoever might be sitting nearby.

As Ethel resurfaced, she could see the startled witch brushing droplets of water off her spattered clothes and hair. “No, actually, I’m a publicist,” the woman replied unfazed, “so I’ll be handling all the press for the school going forward. And I’m hoping we’ll get to see a lot more of each other.” Crouching by the side of the pool, she trailed her hand across the rippling water. “Temperature-controlled by magic. Brilliant,” she murmured to herself. “Millie, your mum is truly something else. I know traditional magical communities tend to look down their noses on swimming as an Ordinary skill,” she began, and Ethel could remember hearing Dayo spouting the same views. “But I think it’s amazing how much Pippa values it. I mean, its researched benefits around physical fitness and emotional well-being alone… and I can imagine it’s a real opportunity for lower-income students too, who might never get the chance to learn otherwise.”

Despite the dubious source, Ethel felt a little puff of pride for her mum. She had read the same in the Pentangle’s Academy brochure that she had snuck from the stack of enrollment catalogues lying on her mother’s desk years ago.

With glee crinkling her eyes, the witch continued to share her unsolicited life story. There could not have been a less-enthused audience. “My dad near crowed when I told him. He was taught via the old sink or swim method at a neighborhood lake, and fifty years later, he can still only swim as far as he can hold his breath,” she exclaimed with a light-hearted roll of her eyes.

The woman’s laugh seemed to echo in the unanswered silence, grating Ethel’s ears as she mercilessly ground her teeth.

“Pentangle’s is really a gem, and Pippa has exactly the kind of modern ideas we need to infuse some innovation into these stuffy witching protocols,” she gushed on, half to Ethel and half to herself before meeting Ethel’s unimpressed eyes.

If the woman thought she would be won over by some unprompted fangirling, she was sorely mistaken.

The daft witch seemed to finally take a hint as she ran a nervous hand through her pixie locks. “But what am I prattling on about? You already know how great Pippa is.” Her eyes suddenly taking on a gleam of friendly competition, she stood up and took several deliberate strides back from the pool’s edge. “That was a pretty good cannonball, but I think I’ve got you beat, Millie. Watch out now!”

Ethel observed with horror as the woman then proceeded to launch herself into the air, grab her knees to her chest, and unceremoniously drop into the cool water with a large splash. Laughing cheerfully, she combed her fingers through her wet hair with an irrepressible grin, and mere moments later, a still baffled Ethel was hit in the face by a spray of water as the brunette witch playfully invited retaliation.

“But you’re not even wearing a suit,” Ethel sputtered.

“Who cares?” the older witch nonchalantly shrugged off Ethel’s indignation. “That’s what drying spells are for.”

Ethel found herself bobbing up and down in the water, absolutely bewildered. The woman was fully clad in not inexpensive clothes and enjoying herself! Switching tacks abruptly, Ethel decided to get straight to the point. “So how long have you and my mum been dating?”

That question seemed to throw the woman off-guard. She paused, Ethel supposed to briefly glance around for any trace of her mum, before answering, “Since June. How did you know?”

Borrowing a page from Enid’s morally questionable book, Ethel adopted a tone she hoped sounded sufficiently blasé, “Oh, I’m used to meeting strange women around the pool.”

“You are,” the older witch noted with surprise.

“Sure, I feel like there’s someone new here every summer. Sometimes two or three, if my mum’s been bored.”

“That many, huh?”

“Loads, like you wouldn’t believe. Now June, that makes sense. You’re right on schedule.” At Vic’s mildly skeptical expression, Ethel continued, channeling Aunt Lucy’s forthright manner, “My mum’s got the whole routine down pat. Two months in, the whole meet the daughter thing. She’s a sucker for a whirlwind romance, always wining and dining women looking for the one for now, if you know what I mean, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Us, modern women, sometimes we just need a little fun in our lives. Isn’t that right, Vic?” Gauntlet thrown, Ethel dove underwater to swim towards the far side of the pool without waiting for a response.

And that is how her mum found the pair a few minutes later: Ethel swimming frenetic laps to burn off her anxious energy and a sodden Vic seated along the pool’s edge, curious brown eyes following Ethel as her hands pierced the water with furious strokes.

“Millie!” Donning a wide-brimmed hat and holding several large beach towels, her mum enthusiastically waved her over.

A cool fifty meters away, Ethel shrank her body further into the corner of the wall. “Just a few more laps, mum!” she shouted before kicking off and pulling into a slow and steady breaststroke. Gliding weightlessly through the water, her arms stretched taut before her and holding her breath until she could feel her body’s clawing need for air, she wondered how long she could stave off the inevitable.

With each deep breath down the length of the pool, Ethel could see her mum and Vic out of the corner of her eye by turning her head ever-so-slightly. The two witches were sitting side-by-side along the pool’s perimeter, their feet dangling in the water, and although quiet, their voices carried across the calm water. Curious, Ethel smoothly transitioned into shallow strokes that only gave the appearance of intent swimming, her ears skimming the surface every few seconds.

“You met Millie.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And she knows.”

“You told her?”

“Of course not. She asked me when we started dating, so I jumped to the logical conclusion.”

“Oh,” her mum seemed to slump with disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Pip. I know you wanted to tell her yourself.”

“How is she?”

The brunette winced. “Honestly, I don’t think she’s too happy about it. I hear you’re quite the heartbreaker, Pippa Pentangle.” The snitch, Ethel groused, as she kicked her legs out with a burst of viciousness.

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Ethel savagely mocked the woman’s gracious demurral as if she had not already opened her big mouth.

“Maybe I should give you two some time. Do this another day.”

For a moment, Ethel felt the beginnings of an airy lightness tugging away the heavy weight on her shoulders at the blessing of a few days’ delay, but her mum swiftly punctured that balloon with her denial.

“No, I don’t want to put it off. In a few weeks, Millie will be busy with school, and I want you to get to know one another before then. You’re going to be part of our family. Darling, this is important to me.”

Barely a second had passed when the infuriating woman relented, covered her mum’s hand with her own. “Then I’ll stay.”

Her mum spared but a quick glance at Ethel to confirm that she was determinedly swimming by before leaning intimately into the other woman’s touch. Caressing her cheek, she drew her in for a tender kiss, at which point Ethel immediately ducked her head under the surface, resigned to spend the next eternity staring fixedly at the rough concrete floor and trying to ignore anything else that might be happening above ground.

When Ethel could not hold her breath a second longer, she resurfaced, hoping to see a respectable distance restored between the two witches. Unfortunately, she rather heard the start of a muffled squeal as two intertwined figures tumbled into the water. Ethel grimaced as the odious woman gallantly tossed her mum’s soaking hat to the side and with an obnoxious show of strength, smoothly scooped her mum up into a bridal lift as she pressed their lips back together, her athletic legs churning beneath her to stay afloat in the sudden depths. Unable to look away, Ethel thought she could see every wandering hand with nauseating clarity in the crystal-clear water, and what she could not see, her mind spun out to imagine in a nightmarish pastiche, the other witch wrapping her legs possessively around her mum’s waist, her groping hands palming her mum’s breast, her mum pliant and besotted and so responsive until an unnatural screech of anguish reverberated distortedly through the muted silence of the water.

It took a few moments for Ethel to realize that the tortured cry was coming from her, and with a start, she immediately popped her head up, beating at the water with whipping legs to put as much distance between her and … that as quickly as possible. In her frantic escape, she caught snatches of conversation whispered between the two interrupted witches.

“Where’s your spontaneity, Pip?” Ethel’s hands pushed through the heavy water in unrestrained frustration.

“It's different now that Millie's here.”

“Oh, you're serious…. I thought you were all about sex positivity.” Ethel would die happy if she never had to hear her mum talk about sex again.

Her mum chuckled in good humor. “There's a difference between sex positivity and making out in front of my eleven-year-old daughter. An occasional kiss but none of that,” her mum admonished the other woman, soothing the loss inspired by her words with a kiss as Ethel struggled to fight her way to the end of the lane. Her lungs felt like they were about to give out. She was almost there.

“And when we're alone?”

Ethel nearly choked on the water at her mum’s response, her voice lowered to a throaty whisper, “There I have no complaints, Ms. Castillo.”

“That's good to hear,” Vic replied in kind as their voices faded into even more awful silence.

As her hand latched onto the wall, Ethel scrambled out of the pool as fast as humanly possible. Forgoing her towel altogether, her feet slapped against the hot pavement as she staggered towards the exit.

“Millie?” her mum’s voice rang out worriedly. “Sweetheart, where are you going?”

Her throat convulsed painfully. Ethel could not bear to face her mum. “I-I, uh, just need to get a snack. I’ll be right back.”

“Millie, well, at least take your towel. You’re dripping all over,” her mum suggested, quickly walking towards her with said towel in her outstretched hand.

Ethel nearly tripped over herself as she flinched away from her mum, her stumbling feet steadied by a wisp of pink magic, warm and reassuring, and her mum’s wide eyes tinged with hurt as she awkwardly declined, “No, it’s, uh, okay.” Her words sounded garbled to her own ears, and she hardly knew what she said in explanation. “I-I-I’ll be right back.”

\-----------

Before she knew it, she was standing in a secluded corner of the greenhouse, her raw feet clad in sturdy slippers and her dry but still shivering body wrapped in a toasty towel. She had no idea how she had even come by the towel in the first place, but not even the steady heat emanating from the enchanted terrycloth could warm her chilled skin. Surrounded by the heady scent of fragrant flowers and herbs, colorful hues, hanging plants, and so much verdant green, Ethel could imagine herself walking along the forest paths behind her cottage home, someplace safe and sacred, and not in this looming castle of unpredictable strangers so completely beyond her ken. She did not even know who she was here. Wearing her sister’s skin, her very face and limbs belonging to someone else, what had once seemed an exhilarating adventure felt scary and lonely. Nothing seemed to fit anymore, and worst of all, she had seen the look of hurt on her mum’s face. Ethel felt like she was doing everything wrong. She could not say how long she had been standing there, lost in her own spiraling thoughts, when she caught a hint of her mum’s perfume.

“Millie, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I tried a locator spell, which said you weren’t even in the castle. I’ll have to talk to your Aunt Lucy about adding enchantments without my approval again,” her mum said as she joined Ethel in her corner of the expansive conservatory. Hesitantly wrapping Ethel in a tight hug, her mum pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong.”

At Ethel’s impenetrable silence, her mum sighed, “I expect that this must come as a shock. It’s certainly not how I wanted you to find out, but while you’ve been away, Vic has become someone very important to me. And I would really like it if you two got to know one another.”

Ethel sank further into her mum’s arms, her tears falling freely now and the telltale shake of her shoulders betraying her muffled cries. Ethel could feel her mum’s reassuring hand rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades as her mum laid her cheek gently on her head, enveloping her in her solid presence.

“Millie, I know this is a lot to take in, but nothing will ever change how much I love you. You are my everything, sweetheart.” For a moment, Ethel allowed herself to believe that the words were meant for her and not her sister, and slowly, her sobs began to subside. With an embarrassed sniffle, Ethel disentangled herself from her mum’s embrace, rubbing her swollen eyes and wiping her dampened cheeks. Wrapping her arms tightly around her waist, she focused on the plants in front of her in an effort to re-center her shuddering breaths. Pleasant shades of blue and violet, pink and periwinkle captured her gaze, delicate star-shaped petals puckered around a bright golden center. The familiar flowers brought her back to sunny weekend afternoons at the kitchen table, her mother perusing journal articles, while Ethel completed her cottage school assignments.

“What about mother?” Ethel whispered hoarsely, a slight tremble to her otherwise steadying voice.

Her mum followed her gaze, and Ethel thought she saw the shadow of a wistful smile cross her mum’s face. “Oh, darling, I know that we had both hoped--,” her mum started softly. “But sometimes people grow apart, and after all these years, I think we both know that your mother is never coming back. We have to move on,” she asserted quietly but firmly, almost as if to herself. 

Her mum did not know, Ethel reminded herself, as tears welled up again, “But what if mother does—"

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. We have to move on,” her mum repeated, pulling her eyes away from the flowers and meeting Ethel’s. The words were spoken in an ever-soft whisper, but her tone brooked no further argument. Cradling her hands in her own, her mum broached, “Millie, Vic and I –”

Vic this and Vic that. Vic was ruining everything! Ethel tore her hands away in a fit of flaring resentment, yelling, “I hate Vic!”

Her mum visibly recoiled as if struck, and the pricking tears in Ethel’s eyes spilled forward. Twice in one afternoon she had caused her mum such sorrow. She felt selfish and ashamed.

Persevering, her mum said waveringly, “Mildred Pentangle, I understand that you’re upset, but we do not speak that way in this house. I know you don’t know Vic yet,” her mum held up a hand in warning, but there was no need. Ethel had no fight left within her. “But Vic and I aren’t just dating. Vic proposed a few days ago, and I accepted. She makes me so happy, and I know you’ll love her too if you would only give her a chance. I want her to be a part of our family.”

Tears streamed freely down Ethel’s face anew. Her mum stepped tentatively forward, brushing wetness from her cheeks with loving hands, as she murmured, almost pleadingly, “Where’s my kind-hearted Millie-bear? Won’t you give her a chance, please, for me?” Ethel was helpless against her mum’s request. She would do anything for her mum, even if it meant playing nice with a woman she despised and helping her mum build a new family without mother and without her.

\-----------

Lunch was an awkward affair of stilted conversation and the rest of the afternoon even worse. Her mum would start conversations that either Vic or Ethel would attempt to continue, but Ethel’s heart was not in it. And every few seconds, she would find her eyes drifting towards the window, wishing herself anywhere but here as the conversation dwindled around her. Mum then had the brilliant idea of having Ethel show Vic around her studio, an activity clearly designed with Mildred’s interests in mind. While her mum made herself scarce purportedly cleaning up after lunch, she had followed an overly enthusiastic Vic from piece to unfamiliar piece. The ever-faithful Andy had seemed to sense her distress and padded into the room after them, purring contentedly as Ethel scratched her ears and absentmindedly stroked her fur. Holding Andy in her arms, Ethel had fielded the eager woman’s many insipid questions with vague, noncommittal answers. What inspired this? What was the meaning of that? Ethel concocted on the spot as best she could and figured Mildred could correct any inaccuracies when she returned to take her place as her mum’s daughter. Ethel would be long gone by then and, on the bright side, would probably never have to see this woman again.

Next up was riding. At first, Ethel had assumed her mum meant broomsticks, but she was quickly disillusioned of that idea at the sight of tall, stately legs and the shake of a thick, blond mane. Ethel stared up at the horse with wide eyes. She was supposed to get on that!?! Ethel had never ridden a horse in her life! The brochures had mentioned something about “equine therapy,” but she had not known what “equine” meant and had forgotten to look it up to her great regret now.

With the help of the stable hand – Sadie was it? Or Patty? – she scrambled up onto the back of the giant beast, was handed the reins with not so much as a single instruction, and the horse was guided out to the fields with a friendly pat. Gripping onto the reins and saddle as if her life depended on it, Ethel jolted along at a jerky amble, trailing after her mum’s languid strides and Vic’s slightly stiffer ones. Ethel would have reveled in Vic’s unease if she had not been so acutely aware of her own. A spiteful voice in her head sneered, “Well, at least, no one’s having fun.”

A sentiment, which became all the more true when her mum cajoled a few minutes later, “Millie, let’s really let Sprout stretch her legs. Come on!” and spurred her chestnut mare into a gallop that Ethel could only attempt to imitate. Nervously casting a safety spell, she kicked into Sprout’s sides with her heels, and the well-trained horse had nickered with delight and sprung into motion. When Sprout had finally caught up to her mum and her mare, Ethel hanging on for dear life, her every muscle clenched in a death grip around the horse’s milky neck, her mum had only gotten out a puzzled, “Millie, what’s --?” before Ethel had snapped, “I’m doing the best that I can, okay?” That little tantrum had earned her mum’s reticence for the remainder of the ride and the added unpleasantness of having to watch Vic place a comforting hand on her mum’s lower back as she murmured soothing nothings into her ear.

Ethel did not think she could take any more forced familial togetherness, so feigning sickness to excuse herself from dinner, she closed the door to the soundproof chanting room behind her, sliding tiredly down to the floor. Surrounded by her mum’s books, she found no comfort in the heavy tomes. Vic’s words from earlier in the day still echoed in her ears. Intruding upon Ethel’s quiet moment alone in the gazebo, the dense woman had sidled up beside her. “You and I both know you don’t need another mum. You already have a mum, the best mum,” she had said in a lovesick tone. “I just hope that we can be friends.”

Ethel did not need another friend, especially not some thirty-something witch looking to steal her mum. “I want my mum!” she screamed, stomping her feet on the ground for good measure.

At that moment, a lanky figure suddenly uncurled itself from the armchair. Ethel shrieked with surprise as Uncle Ollie peeked his head out cheekily, “Something you’d like to share with the class there, kiddo?”

“U-U-Uncle Ollie,” Ethel stuttered. “You gave me a fright.”

“I gave you a fright?” he parroted with a suspicious tilt of his head.

“I was just …. I thought I was alone.”

“You’ve been acting strange all day, Millie. Neat as a pin, suddenly pirouetting around the kitchen. You’ve been _way_ too polite, hiding out in the oddest places, and shutting your mum out. It’s not like you. Your mum’s been sending me frantic maglet messages. I haven’t seen her this at a loss since … well, frankly, since your mother,” her godfather announced bluntly. “It’s like you’ve become a mini-Hecate, and if I didn’t know any better, it’s almost as if you’d been raised by ….” Ethel wondered if her godfather could be trusted.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything,” the wizard dismissed.

“Almost as if I’m … Ethel?” she whispered hesitantly.

The wizard jerked his head up with a start, gazing at her with penetrating sharpness. “You know about Ethel?”

“I am … Ethel.”

At her confession, her godfather gawped at her with tears in his eyes, stricken as if with inexpressible grief.

“Are you mad?”

With a shake of his head, Uncle Ollie cautiously approached her, “Never, kiddo.” Biting his lip, he tentatively gestured, his voice breaking, “Can I … can I hug you?” At Ethel’s small nod, her godfather enfolded her in his steady arms, and Ethel felt a small patch of wetness grow against her shoulder as the tall man carelessly brushed aside his tears. After a long time, Uncle Ollie pulled back. Devotedly appraising his precious goddaughter with new eyes, he breathed almost reverently, “Ethel.”

At the sound of her own name, Ethel felt her emotions crack open. She finally felt seen. She finally felt safe, and upon his assurance that she could tell her mum in her own time, she told her godfather everything.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone, who's commented and left kudos! They truly make my day.

With a careful twist of her wrist, Mildred slowly pushed open the door to the Honeybee. She had her mother’s keys clutched tightly in her hand and the foresight to balance on her tiptoes to dampen any noise escaping from the hanging welcome bell. She shuddered at the thought of that cheerful tinkle reverberating throughout the silent shop and alarming a sleepy Ada. She could only imagine how that conversation would go, her godmother in her dressing gown and fluffy slippers peering at her inquisitively over her spectacles as Mildred stumbled through a rambling explanation for her impromptu, nighttime visit. Quietly latching the door behind her, Mildred faced the dark interior. Slivers of moonlight slid through shuttered windows to illuminate small pockets in the pitch blackness. Pulling a small torch from her jeans, Mildred replaced it with the ring of keys. The solid feel of metal against her thigh grounded her as she cautiously picked her way through the narrow aisles of the empty apothecary.

After several seconds, her eyes acclimated to the shadows, and she crept stealthily towards the back room, her hands fumbling along smooth counters to guide her way. To her right, the hallway leading up to Ada’s flat on the second floor remained comfortingly dark, and within a few short steps, the door to the back room loomed menacingly over Mildred as she stared at the sturdy but unremarkable wooden frame. By the looks of it, one would never guess that the entrance was protected by powerful enchantments, but thanks to Ethel’s detailed instructions, Mildred knew better. She took a deep breath in. It was now or never. She only had a handful of hours left before the dose of Transformation Potion from this morning wore off and she returned to her own body. She either brewed more or faced the music, and this was the only way to the supply cupboard. Mildred recited the directions in her mind one last time. Wait for the doorknob to glow twice with a blue light before incanting Ethel’s confirmation spell. Exhaling, she reached out a shaky hand to touch the doorknob. The satin nickel finish felt cool against her sweaty palm. She waited an excruciating beat, then another. But nothing happened.

Releasing the doorknob from her clammy grip, Mildred retreated a step as her mind whirred through the possibilities. The back room was supposed to be sealed at night to allow only mother and Ada access to the secured space, and mother had created a separate magical key for Ethel. Grab the doorknob, wait for the blue glow of light, and answer with the security spell. It was a simple three-step process, and Mildred did not see where she could have gone wrong. Could mother have forgotten to activate the spell tonight? Could she be so lucky?

Extending her trembling hand again, this time, Mildred firmly grasped the doorknob. Perhaps the key required more pressure. The door remained unchanged, the roaring quiet punctuated only by her shallow breaths. Perhaps she needed to turn it? Mildred allowed a hopeful twist of her wrist and let out a soft gasp as she heard the quiet snick of the back room door swinging slowly open. Crossing gingerly over the threshold, Mildred was fully prepared to be repelled by the force of an impenetrable protection spell and found herself pleasantly surprised as her foot easily met the floor on the other side with barely any resistance at all. A slight shimmer in the air and a subtle tingling sensation were the only indications of a magical barrier.

Ears perked and muscles tensed in high alert, Mildred stood completely frozen for a few interminable seconds but heard only the same crickets chirping in the quiet night. Puffing out a little laugh of relief, she marveled at how little fanfare had been involved in the whole process. Ethel had made it seem far more complicated, and Mildred shook her head at her sister’s knack for blowing things out of proportion. She would make sure her sister got an earful the next time they met.

Now down to business. Pulling out a cauldron and adeptly gathering ingredients from the supply cupboard, Mildred made quick work of brewing the Transformation Potion, and soon the bright green mixture was rapidly bubbling and beginning to emit delicate tendrils of smoke. In ten minutes, it would be ready for the last ingredient, so placing a thin glass vial, containing a few blond strands, on the counter, Mildred thought she might as well get a head start on cleaning up.

She was in the midst of tidying the space with a few quick-clean spells when her foot accidentally tripped over the unyielding leg of a metal stool. As it fell with a heavy clank, Mildred cursed under her breath, hoping against hope that her godmother was too far gone to be awoken by a little stool when Mildred heard the creak of nearby stairs followed by the sleep-tousled head of her bleary-eyed godmother. Ada squinted into the dark room with a wide yawn. “Hecate? What are you doing here this late? It’s half past two in the morning. Go home.”

With a haphazard flick of her wrist, her godmother, a woolen cardigan pulled over her long nightgown and comfortable slippers on her feet, dimly lit the room. As the older witch caught sight of Mildred squirming sheepishly behind the table, Ada blinked with surprise. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she queried, “Ethel? Where’s your mother? Hecate?” Her godmother drowsily took in the bubbling cauldron and the otherwise vacant space. “I thought I had sensed your mother’s magical signature.” Suppressing another yawn, Ada began to shuffle into the room when her body inexplicably stilled as she crossed the threshold.

“Hi, Ada,” Mildred greeted with an awkward chuckle as she scrambled to think how she could explain away the intrusion. “Sorry for waking you.”

Thankfully, her godmother seemed distracted, her fingers carefully probing the air around her. When the air within the door’s frame shimmered against her touch, she whispered ashen faced, “The seal isn’t broken.”

Mildred opened her mouth to mumble something about not being able to sleep and having some new ideas for the Sleeping Draught when her godmother suddenly raised a defensive hand, and Mildred felt her entire body freeze against her will. Confused, she uttered, “Ada, I-I-I can’t move.”

Discomposed and with no seeming intention of answering her, the older witch stepped cautiously into the back room. Consternation was etched onto her face, her eyes wide, as she murmured. “It’s been decades. How did you even find her?”

Mildred could not make heads or tails of her godmother’s nonsensical words. “Ada…,” she called out hesitantly. She had known her godmother would be upset, but she had not expected magical confinement.

Hand raised in constant vigilance, her godmother circled the now smoking cauldron. Mildred observed the older woman sip a tiny spoonful of the potion after an uneasy sniff, and at the sight of the vial of Ethel’s hair, she flinched, her skin taking on an even ghastlier pallor. Her worst suspicions seemingly confirmed, the older witch, now unnerved and keenly alert, turned her panicked gaze on Mildred. “What have you done?”

There was worry and something else Mildred could not understand flashing dangerously in the woman’s eyes, and for the first time, Mildred felt terribly afraid.

“Ada, I can explain,” Mildred pleaded tearfully, certain there had been some awful mistake. She had barely a moment to scream when a wave of pulsating yellow magic coiled ominously around her and roughly yanked her immobilized body into the air.

“What have you done?” her godmother boomed, as if deaf to Mildred’s screams. In an authoritative tone Mildred had never heard the kindly woman use before, she demanded, “Where have you taken her?”

For a moment, Mildred thought she heard a slight tremble in her godmother’s voice, but then the diminutive witch seemed to almost magnify before her very eyes. A frightening force to be reckoned with, the older witch had her feet planted firmly on the ground as if prepared for battle. Her nightgown billowed behind her, and the tension of scarcely restrained magic crackled in the air as a deep magenta orb glowed menacingly in her right hand.

Terrified, Mildred begged, “Please let me down---” Unfortunately, the rest of her words were choked from her as a threatening vice grip tightened around her throat.

“No more games,” her godmother commanded. “This room is sealed by blood magic. Wilhelmina, reveal yourself!” The older witch seemed to expect some sort of response, anticipating either aggression or candor or both. Who was Wilhelmina? Mildred did not know how to counteract the effects of the Transformation Potion, and even if she had, her body was far too preoccupied with the basic function of survival. At her side, her fingers twitched in useless struggle against her invisible restraints as she focused all her attention on trying to breathe.

“Enough hiding,” her godmother dismissed coldly. “I never would have expected you to stoop so low as to impersonate a child.” The grip around her neck seemed to tighten with the witch’s agitation. “You will never lay claim to those girls. Do you hear me? Never. They made sure of that long ago,” Ada declared, bold triumph and repressed dread interwoven in her words. “Now where is Ethel? Wilhelmina Broomhead, where is she?” the older witch shouted with an insistent shake of her fist.

Her body flailing with the force of the older witch’s fury, Mildred wheezed with her last ounce of strength, “P-P-Pentangle’s. She’s at Pentangle’s.” She felt herself beginning to lose consciousness as her feet dangled perilously in the air.

“Pentangle’s,” the older witch repeated, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. “Who are you?” The question seemed to echo in the hazily cavernous room, and in the disquieting silence, Mildred felt the suffocating pressure on her throat falter a fraction.

Gulping in a lungful of oxygen to assuage the burning in her chest, she weakly croaked out, “Mildred… Pentangle.”

She felt dizzy. From somewhere far away, she heard a strangled cry. The crackling energy consuming the entire room dissipated in an instant. Her limbs released from their paralyzing prison, Mildred felt the thick magical binds twisting and snaking around her soften into something infinitely kinder. A tender curl of energy cascaded her body as she was cradled gently to the ground and into the soothing embrace of her repentant godmother.

\-----------

“Ada?” Mildred’s eyes fluttered awake at the sound of the doorbell early the next morning and her mother’s perplexed voice.

“Good morning, Hecate. I thought I’d pop by for a little breakfast,” she heard her godmother cheerily reply as she casually invited herself in. “And Ethel?”

“Still sleeping, I imagine.”

“Oh, well, I’ll just check in and see if she’s awake then.”

Mildred winced, her head still pounding from far too little sleep and the harrowing events of the night before. She heard footsteps making their way up the stairs when there was a quiet rap on the door, and her godmother poked her head into Ethel’s bedroom. “It’s just me.”

Mildred ducked her head out from under the covers at her godmother’s voice, and the older witch’s eyes shimmered with tears as she took in her goddaughter’s disheveled brown hair gathered up into two messy braids. The two of them had had a long conversation at Ada’s flat last night once Mildred’s initial shock had worn off.

“Although I would be remiss if I did not say that your and Ethel’s actions were incredibly foolhardy,” her godmother had chided with a stern frown before sympathetically conceding, “I can certainly understand the impulse. None of this has been fair to either of you.”

And while Mildred still did not fully understand the implications of her godmother’s protective behavior – “I’m afraid it’s your mother’s story to tell, dear.” – they had both agreed that her mother deserved the truth.

“Oh, Mildred,” her godmother spoke reassuringly, “your mother is going to be so happy to see you. Shall we?”

Wrapping herself further in her fluffy comforter, Mildred nodded nervously.

“I’ll send her up,” her godmother said with an encouraging smile.

\-----------

A few minutes later, her mother was knocking at her door, “Ethel, Ada said you wanted to talk to me. Can I come in?” and Mildred burrowed deeper under her covers, her heart pounding as her mother entered the room and perched on the edge of her bed.

“Ethel? Ethel, come out from under there, and let me see you,” her mother prompted when Mildred stayed huddled under the coverlets.

“Ethel’s not here,” she confessed with a wince.

“Oh, she’s not? Then, where is she?” her mother responded, almost playfully, finding Mildred beneath the covers.

“She’s with mum, at Pentangle’s Academy,” Mildred blurted out gracelessly, ripping the band-aid off at last.

In the resounding silence, Mildred felt her mother’s searching hand still on her back through the covers and heard the creak of the doorway as her mother asked helplessly, “Ada?”

Still hidden beneath the covers, Mildred was not privy to the unspoken conversation that passed between the two older witches, but in the next second, she felt the comforter being tentatively peeled back as Mildred came face-to-face with her mother for the very first time. Her mother had a hand covering her mouth as she muffled a half-sob.

Anxiously twisting her braids, Mildred whispered, “Hi, mother. I’m---”

“Mildred,” her mother uttered in wonderstruck awe. As if afraid to touch her, her mother stretched out a quivering hand, and Mildred held her breath as her mother lightly traced the outline of her face and smoothed her frizzy hair. “Mildred,” she murmured, drawing Mildred tightly into her chest as she pressed desperate kisses to the top of her head, “my dearest, dearest Mildred. You’re here,” and Mildred knew everything would be okay.

After her mother had taken a few moments to compose herself, dabbing at her eyes and taking several sniffly breaths, she had the wherewithal to ask a simple question, “How?”

But before Mildred had even had time to formulate a response, her mother softly answered it herself, “Camp Walden.” Her first question was soon followed by a second. “And Ada?”

“Ethel and I made a Transformation Potion, but I only had two days’ worth…,” Mildred started sheepishly.

“So you tried to sneak into the Honeybee after hours,” her mother finished matter-of-factly as if the missing pieces of the puzzle were all falling into place. “You must have given Ada quite a scare last night.”

Mildred nodded at the understatement, and at her mother’s worried glance, she felt the now familiar cascade of magic flowing through her body as her mother scanned for injuries. Whereas Ada’s magic had seemed to pour through her, her mother’s magic felt more deliberate, fine strokes brushing along her every fiber, her every joint, her every nerve. “Ada already checked,” she said almost shyly.

Her mother was studying her with such intensity, as if she were inscribing her to memory, and under her mother’s piercing gaze, Mildred did not think she quite had the words to speak, the fading wounds of last night nothing compared to her current melee of emotions.

Her mother seemed to be engaged in her own internal battle. In the heavy silence, Mildred watched as a million emotions swept across her face. Her mother swallowed thickly, “Mildred, I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish – I’m so sorry, Mildred.”

Mildred felt hot tears well up in her own eyes, and staring up defiantly, she almost dared her mother to wipe them away. The words did not make anything better. Mildred had read hundreds of apologies over the years. She just wanted to know. She needed to know. “We never knew where you were, but you knew! You wrote me every year, but you--- you never let me write you back. And you never came,” Mildred cried into her mother’s chest, clenching ineffectual fists against her mother’s shoulders.

Mildred felt her mother tremble against her, even as she clutched her all the tighter, rubbing soothing circles across her back. “I know, honey. I---Mildred---I, I wanted to. I wanted to, but I didn’t think….”

“I needed you,” Mildred sniffed angrily, interrupting her mother’s self-deprecating stutters, “and you weren’t there!”

Gently disentangling their arms, her mother pulled back to face her. She pursed her lips as if biting back more futile explanations. When her mother finally spoke, brown irises so like her own boring earnestly into her, her voice was steady, “I was scared. I was trying to protect you, even if that meant I couldn’t be in your life. And I was wrong.” With a shaky breath, her mother continued, “Seeing you now, I know that I don’t want to make the same mistake again. Mildred, I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I would like to be from now on, if you’ll let me.”

Mildred tensed in anticipation of more, but her mother simply fell quiet. No fervent pleas or silky promises fell from her lips as she patiently awaited Mildred’s response. Acceptance, rejection all lay at her fingertips, and Mildred shivered at the thought. She had never been given a choice before, but instinctively, she knew her answer. 

Nodding meekly, Mildred watched her mother momentarily close her eyes as if in intense relief before she opened her warm brown eyes once more with a tentative smile. “Thank you, Mildred. I know I have not shown you my love very well in the past, but---”

“You’re still learning how to love?” Mildred guessed, remembering their conversation from earlier this week.

“Yes, I’m still learning,” her mother slowly affirmed. “But what I wanted to say to you was that I have always loved you, and I will always love you. I want you to have all the good things, Mildred.”

Mildred blushed at the familiar words, this time spoken to her without the taint of mistaken identity.

“Oh, my baby girl,” her mother smoothed her cheeks, “how I’ve missed you. You’re a part of me, my flesh, my blood, my heart.”

“Of flesh and heart, my hand the sign, undo the locks of her design,” Mildred sang along to her own made-up melody.

Her mother raised an eyebrow in recognition of Ethel’s security key.

“I spent hours memorizing it at camp, but I never got to use it,” Mildred explained with a shrug. “You forgot to lock the door to the back room last night.”

At that, her mother released a small chuckle. “No, honey. Besides me and Ada, there are only three people in the world, who could have entered that room without a key. Ada’s twin sister, Agatha; my Aunt Broomhead; and you, Mildred.”

“Ada thought I was her,” Mildred shared timidly. She wondered if her mother would tell her story today.

Her mother looked at her regretfully. “Yes, I suppose she would have. I don’t think either of us could have ever expected that you would be the one to find me. You’re far braver than I ever was.” Trailing off, her mother stared at her hands as if unsure as to whether to continue.

Mildred hesitated. “Before, you said that you were trying to protect me.” Meeting her mother’s eyes, she asked. “Did she hurt you?”

Mildred thought she saw a flash of fear in dark brown eyes as her mother began unconsciously wringing her hands, and she almost dreaded the answer. Her mother gave a small shake of her head. “Not in the way you might think, not… not physically. Or even magically, although I don’t doubt she could. But my aunt,” her mother parsed her words between slow, paced breaths as if re-tracing her steps to a long-forgotten room, “my aunt was a cruel woman, who often cared more about preserving the Hardbroom line and elevating the family name than she did about me. She found my … life choices,” her mother twisted her lips, “…disappointing and never failed to remind me of my shortcomings.” After a weighty pause, her mother raised her eyes to Mildred’s, a sardonic half-smile ghosting across her face. “But she took a particular interest in you. I think she hoped you might be better suited to carry on the Hardbroom name.”

“Me?”

In response to Mildred’s confused expression, her mother exhaled heavily, and as the breath passed her lips, her mother seemed to dispel some of the haunted memories from her past. “You didn’t need to use Ethel’s key because my blood already runs through your veins, and the spell recognized you as my kin. I gave birth to Ethel, and your mum gave birth to you. So legally, you belong to your mum, and Ethel belongs to me. But biologically, which is all my aunt can understand, you are the last heir of the Hardbroom line. She threatened so many times to take you away from me. When your mum and I split, I thought that the only way I could protect you was to give you up. On the days I missed you most, I took comfort in the fact that you always carried a little part of me inside of you. Just like Ethel carries a little part of your mum.”

Mildred had never thought of it that way, and while she still did not truly understand – her Aunt Broomhead more a vague notion, a dim shadow of a threat than a foreboding witch of prodigious influence, ancient wealth, and a horrifying devotion to her perverted sense of justice – she knew she had been granted a confidence her mother rarely shared.

“That was your mum’s idea. We both wanted to be your mothers in every way.”

Nestling into her mother’s side, her constant presence a powerful balm to her soul, Mildred thought aloud, “What happens now?”

Her mother answered reassuringly, “That’s for your mum and I to figure out. What do you say to a trip to Pentangle’s today?”

Mildred murmured a sleepy okay. It had been an exhausting twenty-four hours.

“Why don’t you get some sleep, and we’ll leave after lunch.” Standing, her mother tucked the covers snugly in around her, calmingly lulling her to sleep as long fingers carded through strands of her loose morning hair.

Soon the peaceful waves of sleep overtook her, and Mildred felt a tender kiss pressed against her forehead. “I love you, Mildred, my brave, brave girl.”

Instinctively, she mumbled back, “I love you too, mother,” and if she had been awake, she would have seen her mother watching over her for a very long time, mesmerized by the steady rise and fall of her chest and overcome with gratitude.

\-----------

Ada transferred to the closed apothecary shop, and as she had suspected, there she saw her friend. Standing almost exactly where she had found her daughter the night before, Hecate looked to be in a frazzled state. Strands of hair had slipped loose from her bun, and she was frenetically sprinkling ground thistle into a black cauldron. However, upon impact with the cauldron’s contents, the tiny granules seemed to set off an explosive chain reaction, and a thick cloud of acrid fumes burst into the air. With hacking coughs, the brunette witch quickly emptied the smoking cauldron with a frustrated flick of her wrist and conjured a fresh one from the row beneath the counter. In the next instant, a spark of fire lit the underside of the new cauldron with unnecessary vigor, and Ada instinctively released a steadying stream of magic to contain the wildly dancing flames from overwhelming their small burner. Ada could spy a third cauldron spattered with sticky burnt orange resin banished to the table’s edge, and she did not doubt that if she checked the mortar, she would find evidence of the plant’s prickly stem amidst the crushed flowers and leaves, a careless error and one so unlike her friend. In fact, Ada could count on one hand the number of times the famed potioneer had had to re-brew even the most complex of potions, and this was certainly not that. Any mature witch worth her salt could brew a simple reversal spell.

The usually pristine workspace was littered with an array of vials, half-open powders, an oozing cutting board of scaly juices, and scattered fragments of seed and miscellaneous grains. Confronted with a freshly empty cauldron, her friend began tossing in a variety of ingredients. A pinch of this, a dash of that, cups of previously distilled liquids sloshed around in the boiling pot. When the mixture achieved a simmer, a fragrant smell spread throughout the room, and as if on cue, the brunette witch sank onto the nearest stool. Her whole body seemed to collapse in upon itself. With despairing hands, she covered her eyes, and her shoulders shook with noiseless tears. Even here, seeming alone, the forlorn figure gave no voice to her pain. 

It seemed to Ada that Hecate’s misery outweighed her need for solitude, and while she would usually respect the latter, in this moment, she chose to tend to the former. She could not bear to watch her friend suffer alone. “Oh, Hecate,” Ada empathized, finally entering the quiet back room.

Startled, Hecate attempted to scrub her face free of tears. “I thought I would concoct a reversal spell,” she said divertingly, indicating the brewing potion. Trembling hands clutched the long handle of a wooden spoon as she began to stir feverishly. Flecks of the bright green liquid splattered the counter, and Ada rushed to volunteer her steadier hands.

“Let me do that.”

At Hecate’s stiff nod, Ada carefully slid the cauldron and spoon from her friend’s wrought hands to continue the process.

Now bereft of distraction, Hecate seemed to stare unseeingly into the empty space, lost to her thoughts.

“Hecate?” Ada gently prodded.

Glistening eyes snapped towards her. Lines of tension pinched her friend’s pallid face as restless fingers unthinkingly grasped for the cool silver chain that hung around her neck. Anguished, Hecate cried, “How can I face her?” And her dilated pupils seemed to slide out of focus once more.

As her friend floundered in her thoughts, Ada’s mind jumped to the last time Hecate had desperately uttered that same question eight long years ago. A sterile room, the polish of a conference table, a shocking amount of light, quiet demands, and senseless concessions. The slicing reasonableness of mild-mannered mediators that tallied memories and family and love in hard figures and possessions. Red-rimmed eyes, chapped lips mercilessly bitten and gnawed, limp blond hair. And such devastation.

“Ada, please,” the woman had pleaded. “Please.” Although cracked and beaten, hope had still peeked at the corners of her sorrow, but at Ada’s next words, she remembered how her face had crumpled. Hope shattered, all that had remained had been the swallowing hole of grief and still greater grief to come. 

“I’m sorry,” she had said helplessly, the weight of regret rippling and yet to be hanging heavy upon her shoulders. “This is what she says she wants.” Ada had been her voice then, Ada her condemner.

Her friend’s shallow breaths brought her back to the present. Bloodless fingers scrabbled along the silver chain for a precious touchstone, rubbing along hardened curves as if in doleful prayer.

“Oh, Hecate. How long?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're off to Part 3, Pentangle's, and a long-awaited reunion!


	13. Chapter 13

Hecate basked in the rush of wind against her arms, her long hair dancing free behind her. It had been many years since she had last traveled beyond the tiny hamlet in which she had found sanctuary, and the flight felt both exhilarating and panic-inducing. Either way, adrenaline thrummed through her veins, and Hecate tried to focus on the pleasant journey rather than the inevitable destination.

Rejuvenated from her nap, Mildred chattered away beside her, and Hecate soaked in every detail. Every shared anecdote filled the jagged crevices of longing that she had harbored over the years, spackling over the worries that had plagued her nights, the gaping regrets, the infinite questions. Her daughter carried herself well on her broom, her seat sure as she deftly navigated the light summer breeze, and Hecate could not help but smile as she thought back to her baby girl unsteadily getting to her feet. How she had scurried after the fearless toddler, adventurously exploring every inch of the small flat, toppling boldly over piles of books and giggling toothily with spools of toilet paper wrapped around her little body. Mildred had rarely cried as a child, resilient, but oh, how Hecate had fretted at her daughter’s capacity for chaos. Ever the instigator, where a curious Mildred tottered, Ethel would follow. Half the time, her blond daughter would be stopping to pick up scattered blocks or diligently restacking upended books, learning at a young age that clean-up was not her sister’s strong suit, while the other half, she would be Mildred’s greatest co-conspirator, teetering gleefully in the wake of her sister’s bumbling steps, clapping delighted hands, and babbling enthusiastic encouragements.

There was an openness to Mildred that Hecate recognized, a generosity of spirit stemming from unquestioned acceptance and bountiful love. Uncircumspect, her daughter knew no instinct for self-preservation or protection. She had never had to develop one, and Hecate thanked the goddess for how happy and well-adjusted her child seemed. In sleepless nights, there was nothing she had hoped for more.

Mildred was already eagerly talking about showing Hecate around her studio, and Hecate remembered introducing her young brunette daughter to her first set of paints. Even then, Ethel had despised messes, dabbing at her paper with careful strokes, the brush clutched in her chubby fist, and pouting if her exuberant sister accidentally splashed her, while Mildred, well, Mildred had had no qualms about getting her hands dirty. Hands covered in yellows and purples, splotches of paint spotting her cheeks and clothes, she had dipped her brushes in the watercolors. Non-discriminately alternating between paintbrushes and fingers, she had been unstoppable in her efforts to convey her vision, to create. Ethel, on the other hand, would often tire of the exercise. Crawling into Hecate’s lap, she would listen with rapt attention to story after story, pointing along at the squiggly lines, or hum to herself as she built towers of blocks.

In the distance, Hecate could see the spires of what could only be Pentangle’s Academy. Surrounded by greenery, it was exactly as she had always imagined. She remembered long rolls of drafted sketches strewn about the kitchen table, and as the castle rose into view, her breath caught at those simple lines and angles come to life. Far too soon, her feet were landing on the ground, and when Mildred gave her an excited backward glance, Hecate schooled her face into a reassuring smile, nodding at her daughter to lead the way with an ease she did not feel. Somewhere in this building awaited Pippa. An image of the blond witch floated into her mind, the fleeting memory of a murmured whisper, and Hecate tried without success to banish the thought. Braids flying behind her, Mildred dashed into the castle, her broom forgotten on the ground. Safely storing away their brooms with a wave and a deep, stilted breath, Hecate entered Pentangle’s Academy.

There was a hush in the quiet building. The stillness unsettled her. Hecate had never thought of the school as so large and empty during the summer months, save its two year-long occupants. In her mind, she had always pictured the school as brimming with life, bustling with the shenanigans of rambunctious students and dedicated faculty. She wondered if Pippa, or rather, Mildred, had ever been lonely here growing up. Following Mildred through unfamiliar corridors and passageways, Hecate could sense Pippa’s thoughtful hand in every inviting chair, each carefully selected piece of art, the warm tones of the painted walls, the gentle light streaming in from the floor-length windows. She could hear Pippa’s voice declaring, “I want wall-to-wall windows, Hecate, for the place to be filled with light!” “Hiccup, what do you think of this painting? I love the dynamism of the brush strokes, but do you think it’s too much, too distracting for the library?”

They had spent weekends strolling through galleries for the perfect pieces, Hecate partial to the sweeping movement of the Impressionists as they captured the beauty in the everyday, while Pippa had gravitated towards bolder, more modern works that invited the viewer to interpret their meaning or to challenge social norms. They had pored over swatches, their walls a patchwork of shaded squares, and made revision after revision to the tentative blueprints for their future home, adding first a breakfast nook, then a patio. It would be wonderful to watch the sunset or to gaze out at the skies in the evening after a long day. They would need two rooms for the girls as they got older, a study for their work, and of course, a greenhouse for Hecate. Gently shaking her head, Hecate sought to clear her mind of the onslaught of memories. Up ahead, she watched as Mildred paused to open a door, revealing a cozy, familial apartment. She could already see it in her mind’s eye, the rooms that she had never lived in. This was Mildred and Pippa’s home now.

“Ethie!” Mildred called in greeting, bursting through the door and searching eagerly for her sister. “We’re here!”

From a doorway down the hall popped out the familiar face of another Mildred Pentangle, except unlike the wind-blown daughter standing beside her, this one was comfortably dressed in shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Two Mildreds, oh my. Hecate’s eyes widened in shock, despite having prepared herself for the sight. Ethel shouted with unreserved joy, “Millie! Mother!” and raced over to embrace them.

Feeling her knees give out beneath her, Hecate knelt to wrap her two young daughters in a tight hug. She had dreamed of this so many times, and whatever else the day might bring, for this moment, she was utterly grateful. Quickly wiping tears from her eyes, she laughingly looked up to meet two sets of identical brown irises. “Ethel Hardbroom,” she chided. “Look at you.” Reaching into her pocket, Hecate pulled out a small flask filled with an effervescent, green liquid. “It’s a reversal potion. Drink up, honey. I want to see both of you.”

Uncorking the flask, Ethel downed the potion with a grimace, and almost immediately, her features began to shift, her hair lightening, and her legs lengthening until Hecate was face-to-face with her Ethel once more.

“My girls,” she murmured in awe, taking in her two daughters before her and their beaming smiles. “I love you both so much.” With another quick kiss to each girl’s forehead, Hecate tentatively asked, “Where is your mother? I thought she would be here to meet us.”

Ethel glanced nervously at Mildred as the young brunette quickly jumped in, “She’ll be here any minute. I sent her a maglet message before we left.”

Something about her fidgetiness pinged Hecate’s suspicion, but before she could pursue it, a resonant voice rang out from the doorway, “I thought I heard familiar voices.” Hecate slowly stood to stare dumbstruck at the wizard, leaning casually against the frame and watching the scene with an easy smile. Time had crinkled laugh lines around his eyes and sharpened the curve of his jaw, and the slight graying around his temples added a sense of gravitas to the once foppish and ebullient young man she had clashed with in her younger days. Approaching the trio, he chuckled, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, kiddo!”

“Uncle Ollie!” Mildred exclaimed, launching herself into the man’s arms without further delay. The wizard lifted her daughter’s feet clear off the ground as he twirled her around the room. An arm slung around Mildred’s shoulders, keeping her close, he then waved Ethel forward, “And Ethel, let me finally get a look at you.” Hecate did not miss the slight hitch in his voice or the shimmer in his blue eyes as he doted upon her blond daughter, no doubt fondly recalling the similarities to her mum at the same age.

Finally, his eyes turned to her, and Hecate could plainly see the measure of the man as he acknowledged her with a discerning but not unaffectionate smile. “Hecate.”

“Oliver,” she returned stiffly, more from discomfort than anything else.

As her two daughters huddled together on a couch, rehashing their days apart, Hecate and Oliver took a moment to observe them in silence, the closeness of the sisters apparent despite their recent reconnection.

Awkwardly clearing his throat, the wizard started, “It’s good to see you, Hecate. It’s been a long time.” More than a hint of rebuke hung in the air, and Hecate did not have a reply. It was an accusation she had leveled at herself a hundred times before, and she certainly did not expect the wizard to excuse her behavior or show her any leniency for her actions. At her almost imperceptible nod of agreement, he released a self-conscious laugh as he tried to ease the tension. “What are we doing? Look at us, acting like strangers!” The wizard took a tentative step towards her, waiting for her subtle consent, before ensconcing her in a cordial embrace. Freed from the pressure of eye contact, Oliver alluded, “She’ll be here soon, and I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.” He paused. “You did a good job, Hecate, raising her, I mean. She’s incredible.”

In the past, his words would have struck her as impertinent, causing her walls to rise and her pride to bristle, and yet, Hecate was surprised by how much she needed to hear them. She had forgotten how much she valued his opinion, however divergent from her own.

He seemed to take her silence in stride. “Let me make you all a cup of tea before I get out of your hair. She should be home from the market any minute.”

As Oliver retreated to the kitchen, Hecate recovered her voice. “Thank you,” she said quietly to the man’s back, “for taking care of my girl.”

Turning around, he tossed her a familiar impish smile, “Which one?” and Hecate was reminded of how infuriating she had found the man. With a final bemused tilt of his head, he swiveled on his heel to bring out the tea. Hecate made no effort to respond. Her nerves could do with a cup. 

True to his word, Oliver soon made himself scarce, leaving the apartment in a flurry of hugs and a conspiratorial wink at the girls that did not escape Hecate’s notice. She spared a second to wonder what harebrained scheme the three of them might have cooked up, and she did not know whether to be more worried about her daughters’ machinations or the interfering wizard’s. But choosing to take the day one step at a time, Hecate set aside her fretting, and for the next half-hour, she accepted the priceless gift for what it was and allowed herself to fully enjoy the company of her daughters. The three of them were settled snugly on the living room couch with a few cups of tea and a tin of buttery shortbread cookies when they heard the door to the apartment open and a sunny voice call out, “Millie, sorry I’m late! Your Uncle Ollie sent me on a wild goose chase through the market, and then I ran into –”

Hecate felt breathless as she unsteadily rose from her seat. On the surface, the voice sounded buoyant, but Hecate could detect a note of strain. Perhaps she was not the only one dreading this meeting. That was the extent of her thoughts when, just like that, Pippa was suddenly there. How she had missed her, her gaze drinking in every inch of the woman in front of her. The past eight years had been kind to the blond witch, casually clothed in a flowy pink summer dress, her blond hair piled in a messy bun. She was carrying a large cloth bag of groceries in one arm, and there was something so domestic about it all. Hecate caught glimpses of so many other times that Pippa had returned home. Bouncy steps as she bounded into Hecate’s arms back when a day apart had felt eternal. Sparkling eyes at the dizzying prospect of a holiday weekend to themselves. A jaunty smile as she strutted into the room, high off a successful investor meeting and with conquest on her mind. A heap of exhausted limbs piling onto the bed after a series of disheartening rejections. Hair flying in her face from a meandering trip to the market, clinking bottles of wine and the fixings for a homemade dinner bursting forth from her bags. 

As memory toyed with Hecate, the smile slipped from Pippa’s face. Stricken, she looked like she had seen a ghost, and Hecate considered the analogy fitting. She supposed that is what she had become.

Beside Pippa stood an attractive younger woman, surveying the room with curiosity, and upon closer inspection, Hecate noticed that the two women were moving as one. They were holding hands, and something on Pippa’s left hand, clasped in the younger brunette’s, glinted in the light-filled apartment. It took Hecate a moment to process.

It was a beautiful ring.

Pippa was engaged. Of course. And with that simple realization, Hecate felt a heaviness weigh upon her chest. She was here for her daughters, nothing more.

\-----------

“Hecate,” Pippa trailed off, her eyes locking onto the brunette’s with surprise and confusion as her cheeks rapidly drained of all color. Hecate Hardbroom was in her living room.

Only yesterday, she had cursed the woman’s name. Her craven selfishness, her deliberate avoidance, her persistent presence lingering at the corner of her and Mildred’s lives as she had wiped her daughter’s frustrated tears. Hecate had the luxury of stirring fanciful dreams, while Pippa was left with the thankless task of dashing them away. She straddled the fine line of restraining her tongue so as not to besmirch the other witch, while managing Mildred’s far too lofty expectations. It was her own fault, really. She had never wanted Mildred to hate her other mother, and in her more nostalgic moments, she may have imbued the maddening woman with more virtues than she deserved.

It was funny the things one remembered. When memory was untempered by the reality of its object, snappish remarks lost their sting. Prickly irritability was smoothed down into an endearing character trait. And what remained were the shy smiles reserved solely for her, unmatched brilliance and wit, dry humor that always made her laugh and was never at her expense, and soft, tethering touches to her hands or the small of her back that seemed to always sense when she felt overwhelmed. She drew for her daughter the woman she yearned for her to know, and if she embellished, well, she would be only too glad to face a day of reckoning. For Mildred’s sake.

Like a statue enfleshed, Hecate stood, and Pippa could not believe her eyes. Dressed simply in a tailored gray sweater with black slacks, a delicate silver chain slipping beneath a rounded collar, she was stunning. Pippa had not laid eyes on her wife, her ex-wife, in over eight years, her letters unreturned and her address suspiciously unplottable. According to the law, she had been little more than her long-term roommate. Their life and love had been discounted, too early and short-lived to benefit from the Marriage Act, but she had been Pippa’s constant, her solid ground, until one day, she wasn’t.

Frozen in place, Pippa thought Hecate looked much the same. Perhaps her hair was a little longer. Hecate’s thick brown hair was pulled practically back from her face, wavy brown locks disappearing past her shoulders, with a few stray wisps blown out by the wind. Her face was perhaps a little more angular than in her thirties, her shoulders more confident, her eyes unsearchable deep pools of emotion. Then, as if struck, the brunette witch tensed. Soft curves hardened, and with a blinking flutter of her lashes, she broke her gaze. At brown eyes ripped away, Pippa was overcome by a wave of loss, and she felt herself pushed into motion.

Disentangling her hand, she unceremoniously dropped her groceries onto the nearest chair, and walking further into the room, she dazedly tried to take in the scene before her. The stately brunette was flanked by her daughter, fidgeting nervously with her braids, on one side and a young blond girl, who stared at her with longing and fear, on the other. A young girl with her coloring and Ollie’s eyes. Pippa’s wide eyes flicked desperately back to the brunette with an unspoken question, and at Hecate’s small nod, Pippa stepped ever so slowly closer towards the young girl. Her steps felt tentative, fear coursing through her that the slightest movement would frighten her away or reveal this all to be a vivid illusion. “Ethie?”

“Hi, mum,” Ethel whispered.

The endearment clenched at her chest, and Pippa reached to cradle Ethel’s face in her hands. Gently brushing tears from her daughter’s eyes, she ignored the drops falling from her own as she wrapped her arms around the trembling girl. The warmth of Ethel’s body against her own steadied her. The fruity scent of her hair, the smoothness of her skin, her neatly cut fingernails, every touch a balm to her fragile heart, every detail absorbed as incontrovertible evidence of the impossible. She was holding her Ethie again. 

“They switched places on us,” Hecate softly shared in her first words to Pippa since that fateful night long ago.

Pippa’s eyes squeezed shut as her mind flipped through the last forty-eight hours. A sniffly Mildred shaking in her arms. _I just really wanted to see you…mum._ Mildred clinging like a barnacle to her side as they walked back to the apartment that first day. The painting that recreated one of her fondest camp memories with a magical and technical exactness that had diverged so much from Mildred’s usual style. The stammered stories featuring a mysterious girl at camp that had not quite added up. Pippa had just assumed that Mildred had developed her first crush, but now….

“You mean, I’ve had Ethel with me this entire time?” At her blond daughter’s hesitant nod, Pippa’s heart broke anew.

More snippets of the past two days rushed by. Ethel flinching away from her touch and running wet and barefoot from the pool. The faulty locator spell. Ethel finding refuge in the greenhouse of all places. _We have to move on,_ she had said so thoughtlessly. She had not misread the devastation on her daughter’s face as she had dismissed the possibility of a reunion out of hand. The sullenness and the outbursts that Pippa had not been able to understand all took on a different slant, and Pippa felt like the world was seismically shifting beneath her feet. All those hours that she had been holed up in her office, combing through piles of enrollment applications over and over again, and her daughter had been just a few floors away.

Pippa was transported back to the hospital as an exhausted and sweat-soaked Hecate slept nearby. A very pregnant Pippa had sat by the plastic crib, watching with astonishment as those wrinkled fingers had curled around her pinkie with a contented gurgle. That night, Pippa had become a mother. She had sung lullabies. Tiny luminescent bubbles floated from her fingertips to the dazzlement of two beautiful, yawning baby girls as heavy lids succumbed to sleep. She remembered leisure afternoons at the park. A toddling Mildred forged her way around the playground with Hecate doggedly following behind, while she had spent hours playing hide-and-seek and burning off those added pounds chasing after her little blond speed racer, her giggles and squeals of laughter pealing through the air.

Full of energy, Ethel had thrived in the outdoors. Her usual standards of cleanliness and general distaste for getting dirty had not seemed to apply to her mothers’ dual elements of earth and water, not that either Pippa or Hecate had contested their stubborn daughter’s logic. A fascinated Ethel had sat upon Pippa’s shoulders on hikes through the forest, and she had jumped at every chance to dig her hands into the rich soil, regularly “helping” Hecate plant and water seeds in their wooden planters at the community garden. Much to Pippa’s delight, she had also taken to water like a fish in the sea. She remembered how Ethel had scrunched her face as they had ducked underwater for the first time, resurfacing with a look of bewildered shock before splashing her arms around giddily.

To this sweet girl of hers, she had said, _we have to move on_ , as if she could ever forget the constant wrenching in her heart for the daughter she had lost. How could this have happened? Never in her wildest dreams had she been so grossly unprepared for her daughter’s return, how much time she had already squandered. Stroking a hand through Ethel’s hair, Pippa looked helplessly to Hecate for answers when Mildred spoke up.

“I guess you both think alike because you sent us to the same camp,” she started, as Pippa’s tearful eyes sought out Hecate’s suddenly elusive ones. “And the whole thing kind of spilled out. I wanted to meet Mother, and Ethel wanted to meet you.”

Lifting her head from Pippa’s shoulder, Ethel added shyly, “We brewed a Transformation Potion and have been taking it daily ever since. Are you mad?”

She did not think she could ever be mad at her daughter. She could hardly believe she had her baby girl in her arms, and Pippa folded herself around Ethel as if trying to communicate her depthless love into every point of contact as she struggled to find her words. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to ask. The preciously preserved image of her blond toddler rapidly morphed into the young girl standing shyly before her. From the past two days, Pippa could already guess a well of complex emotion lay beneath that timid exterior. She desperately yearned to know who her daughter had become, and she wanted her daughter to know her. This was her second chance, and she would fight with everything she had to keep it.

“No, sweetheart,” Pippa exhaled. “Of course not. I’ve missed you so much. Ethie, I love you so much. I just can’t believe you’re here,” she emphasized with a squeeze. “And you,” she turned to Mildred with a shaky smile, “I didn’t even know how much I was missing you.” At that, Mildred rushed over to her for a long overdue hug. With both daughters held tightly against her, Pippa glanced imploringly at Hecate, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

With a small shrug, the brunette witch wryly confessed, “I thought you knew,” raising her eyebrows at a sheepish Mildred. “I only found out this morning.”

As brown eyes met, Pippa felt her breath hitch at the familiar frisson of understanding that passed between them. She could make out the worry in the brunette’s eyes behind that calm façade. They had both been blindsided by their incredible daughters, who had coordinated to bring about in eight short weeks what she and Hecate had not managed in eight long years. She opened her mouth to say as much, to bare her regret, to own her mistakes, to extend an olive branch, her every unformed thought on the tip of her tongue when she was startled by the weight of a hand on her shoulder.

Stiffening slightly in surprise, Pippa turned to see Vic’s dark brown eyes looking back at her with concern, and she felt herself instinctively relax. The brunette subtly rubbed soothing circles on her shoulder, and Pippa felt the witch’s love and affection flow through her entire body. After Hecate, it had taken a long time for her to trust her instincts again. She simply could not piece together how everything had gone so terribly wrong. She had tortured herself playing and re-playing those last, fraught few months in her mind. She had known they were stressed, that they were not communicating well, and Hecate had always been such a sensitive soul. But she had never suspected that Hecate would leave her. The destruction in the wake of that decision. Her world had been irrevocably shaken that day, and she had not known how to recover. She had poured herself into raising her remaining daughter as best she could, all the caregiving duties that had once been shared suddenly falling on her doubting shoulders. She had thrown herself heedlessly into work, finding comfort in the certitude of building regulations and educational standards and the permanence of crafting her legacy. Sometimes, after a long night and too many drinks, she had tumbled into the warm beds of other women, allowing herself to be touched and stroked by hands that were not hers. Body sated, she would rise with kind apology on her lips, transfer to her rooms, and be there to greet Mildred in the morning, tracing the shadow of her in their daughter’s features and aching for the daughter she could no longer see. 

But from the first, Vic had been different. Lacking all pretension, she had given her authentic self wholly over to Pippa without restraint, without fear, and Pippa had swooned. The next few weeks had been some of the happiest of her life. Vic did not suffer fools lightly and shared Pippa’s pragmatic tolerance for playing the game to win in a world dominated by entitled men. Volunteering to accompany her to painful meetings with rigid school inspectors to “better understand the ins-and-outs of running a witching academy,” Vic had sent sardonic glances her way in response to the tone-deaf statements of blowhard colleagues, and Pippa had found herself having to choke back laughter as she nominally apologized for a persistent tickle in her throat. With Mildred away at camp, her usual firm lines between her professional and private lives had blurred as busy days together at work spilled into torrid nights. If they wanted to soak in the sun, a long weekend in the Maldives had not been out of the question, and suddenly the gaping silence of the castle was filled with the vivacious presence of the sprightly brunette. When Vic had proposed to her on a balmy summer night under a moonlit sky, rose petals scattered on the terrace, unexpectedly taking a knee and offering her the promise of a perpetual summer, Pippa had barely hesitated. It had been so easy to love her. They saw the world in much the same way, and Pippa felt stronger and steadier with Vic by her side.

Yet here, surrounded by her daughters and Hecate, Vic seemed out of place, and Pippa felt overwhelmed. The announcement that had seemed so important a few days ago, the once happy prospect of an exciting new beginning, loomed awkwardly over her recently reunited family. She had not thought through how Ethel, and by extension, Hecate, would factor into this new family unit, and she winced as she remembered yesterday’s botched attempt at this conversation with a distraught Ethel. At her prolonged silence, Vic gave her a questioning look, and Pippa managed a feeble nod to reassure the younger witch. She was fine. So the story had changed. Today had brought unbelievable surprises, and she would create a better new beginning, she resolved optimistically. It would all work itself out in time.

Reluctantly stepping back from her daughters, Pippa cleared her throat to make the necessary introductions, “Everyone, this is Victoria Castillo, my ---” If her voice faltered ever so slightly, she was thankful that no one drew attention to it in the emotion-filled room as Vic smoothly continued.

“Fiancée. We just got engaged earlier this summer. And please, call me ‘Vic.’ Everyone does. Now if I’m following, I think I’ve already met you, although I didn’t know it,” she teased as she playfully tapped Ethel, still very much attached to Pippa’s side, on the nose.

Pippa looked down at her daughter with an awestruck smile, pulling her in for another hug. “This is my daughter, Ethel.”

“Then this,” Vic stopped in front of the pair of brunettes, smiling openly at both before her gaze shifted to the younger, “must be the famous Millie I’ve heard so much about.”

“Guilty,” Mildred squeaked.

“And –” Vic gestured welcomingly to the older brunette witch.

Pippa regained her composure then as she spoke with reverence words she had not said in a very long time. “This is Hecate Hardbroom, their mother.”


	14. Chapter 14

Their mother. Pippa’s words echoed in her mind. Their mother. How a single word could tear at her heart, pulling at all its carefully mended seams, in an instant. Years of laughter and toil, long nights cuddled on the couch as Pippa snuggled into her side, Pippa asking her questions – her eyes mischievous behind those ever-distracting glasses, partnership and early morning feedings and so many firsts. Mildred’s first steps. Ethel’s first words. Impassioned lovemaking and whispered intimacies, all reduced to a single, inadequate word.

After recovering from her initial shock, Pippa, with wild agreement from a giddy Mildred and a now slightly more enthused Ethel, had offered to provide her with a tour of the school. Vic – Hecate internally shuddered at the sobriquet – had attempted to excuse herself to allow the familial foursome an afternoon to themselves, but Hecate had been quick to include the younger woman. She did not need Pippa to think that she was trying to drive a wedge in her newfound love, and she was mindful of a creeping suspicion that her daughters had fanciful ideas of their own of how this brief reunion would end that she was eager to discourage. To Hecate’s dismay, she found Vic to be pleasant and witty, easy to talk to, and ever so confident in herself without a hint of arrogance. She was a woman, who knew what she wanted, and Hecate could not find it in herself to hate her. In fact, Vic reminded her of Pippa, the Pippa she had once known, open-hearted and unafraid to take the world on by storm.

As for the woman before her now, Hecate was still figuring her out. Pippa seemed lighter somehow than she remembered. Assuming the role of tour guide, Pippa led the way through the different wings of the castle with Mildred and Ethel chiming in with their own stories. As the three of them walked ahead, Hecate trailed behind, watching their arms swinging together in barely contained excitement. She could see the adoration for her other mother on Ethel’s face, and Mildred was talking a mile-a-minute recounting her own adventures. Every now and again, Hecate would see Pippa look mildly back at her and Vic, and despite her serene demeanor, Hecate knew she was nervous. Her fingers repeatedly captured loose blond strands to tuck behind her ear in a familiar tell. But most of all, Pippa was in love. Hecate caught her seeking reassurance from the woman beside her, her eyes clearing at Vic’s smile and her body relaxing in response to the light pressure of Vic’s hand on her lower back.

“So, tell me, Hecate, how did you and Pippa meet?” the younger brunette asked conversationally. “There’s so much I’m still learning about her. You know, I never even knew Pip had another daughter.”

“Don’t feel bad, Vic,” an eavesdropping Mildred cheekily interrupted. “They didn’t tell us either.” The comment earned her a stern look of reproach from Pippa, who was at the far side of the study hall with Ethel nestled against her. Pippa appeared to be pointing out the various acoustics of the space, and though the constant contact inevitably hampered their steps, neither blonde seemed to mind.

Vic merely chuckled with good humor, “Touché. Your mother was just about to tell me the story of how she met your mum.”

“Were you, mother?” Mildred turned to Hecate excitedly. “I haven’t heard the story in ages! Mum would always say that you were the witchiest witch at the conference, how everyone was falling over themselves trying to get your attention, and that you decided to talk to her.”

 _The witchiest witch._ Hecate had never quite known how to respond to the epithet. To be a witch was essential to her nature, as it was to every other witch, yet Pippa had always imbued the nonsensical superlative with a combination of fondness and awe that she had never understood.

Hecate’s own version of events played out somewhat differently. She had been at the Magic Reimagined conference with Dayo. Her presentation delivered to polite applause in the morning, she had felt infinitely better able to attend to the rest of the day’s speakers without that obligation hanging over her head. Dayo had rolled her eyes at Hecate’s overblown modesty, stating that she had been the toast of the morning with one of the most compelling lectures on the conference agenda. How else could she explain being stopped every few steps by some of witching society’s most esteemed scholars? Hecate had not been able to deny that she had shaken more hands that day than any previous, but with the event co-hosted by Weirdsister, it had been no wonder that witches and wizards would acknowledge the university’s contributors. She had chalked it up to mere professional courtesy. Whatever the case, she had been tired of bickering with Dayo and thankful that no well-wishers would approach her during the panel in session.

The modern magic panel had not been her first choice or on her list at all for that matter, as Dayo had snickered beside her. But Ada had fallen ill with an untimely ailment that prevented her attendance, and as her friend, she had dutifully agreed to add a few of Ada’s top panels to her schedule and had been taking diligent notes. This had, of course, all taken place before Ada had ceded the family business to her older sister, Agatha, and at the time, she had still been immersed in her graduate studies around secondary education administration. Ada and Hecate had met at a university mixer their first year, and although Hecate had been wary of the Cackle name – Cackle’s Academy only second to Wormwood’s in their adherence to arcane witching practices. Hecate had heard rumors that they still condoned magical confinement as a disciplinary measure for underage witches – she and Ada had soon discovered common ground in the pressures they endured due to their respective family legacies.

Five witches had composed the controversial panel, and their divisive recommendations to the core curriculum of youth magical development had caused quite a stir among the established academicians that year. Modern magic then, even more so than now, had been a burgeoning field, still seeking recognition as an accredited course of study. But Hecate had found herself distracted from the merits of any proposed arguments, her eyes skipping over to the pink-clad witch sitting at the table’s end every few seconds, and she had blushed horribly the next day when Ada had cocked an eyebrow at the scanty page of notes.

Later that evening, Pippa had approached her at the farewell reception, and Hecate had been so flustered. Her spine had stiffened with sheer embarrassment, and her hesitancy had come out in words more clipped than usual. The blonde had easily been the most beautiful witch in the room, but it had been her insightful question as to whether Hecate had explored the potential of modern magic to enhance her innovative techniques that had most intrigued her and loosened her tongue, her self-consciousness forgotten. Hours flew by, and when Pippa had handed her a napkin with her number and asked if she would call her after the convention, Hecate had been gobsmacked that this goddess would show her the least bit of interest. At her flat later that night, she had set the napkin carefully down on the corner of her desk, and her eyes had glanced at it intermittently throughout the next few days, a small smile on her lips.

Of course, Hecate had not called. Surely, she had convinced herself, the breathtaking blonde had better prospects than an awkward witch, who brewed potions in a basement lab all day, and she had filed away the evening as a one-time encounter. Not three days later, she had been teaching at the front of one of her larger introductory lecture courses, when someone had raised a hand, remarking upon the effect of celestial energies upon potion potencies and how several studies had noted similar effects when pulling upon internal emotive energies. Hecate had looked up in surprise and seen none other than Pippa. Seated in a back row with her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, the blonde had impishly smiled back at her from behind her glasses. She had only learned later that the blond witch was finishing her own doctoral degree in education with a concentration in modern magical pedagogy. The image of a bespectacled Pippa sitting in her classroom had sent tingles down her spine, and with a gulp, she had just managed to respond, “That’s a very astute observation,” before distractedly reshuffling her notes.

After class, the blond witch had practically sauntered down the steps. “You never called,” she had said matter-of-factly to Hecate’s deer-in-headlights stare. “That was my mistake. Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll see if I can’t find some way to make sure we reconnect,” she had said with a wink. Baffled, Hecate had soundlessly handed over her maglet as Pippa had tapped in her information and sent a quick message to herself. The blond witch had then taken a measured glance around the room, and smirking, she had murmured, “Well, I’ll leave you to your many admirers. I see I’ve got some competition. I better up my game. Bye, Hecate.” As Pippa sashayed up the stairs of the lecture hall, Hecate had followed her retreat with her eyes before scanning the conspicuous stragglers and the handful of students, who seemed in perpetual need of one-on-one support, milling about, completely at a loss as to what had spurred the blond witch’s departing comments.

“Mother?” Mildred asked again, breaking her out of her reverie. Beside her, Vic seemed to wait in anticipation of some grand romantic story.

Somewhat reluctantly, Hecate responded tersely, “We met at an educational conference.” She was not particularly keen on pursuing this topic of conversation.

“Oh, you’re a teacher,” Vic noted.

“I used to be. I was teaching potions at Weirdsister College at the time and was presenting on techniques to amplify Healing Draughts. And Pippa, she….” Hecate waved her hand dismissively. She really did not feel comfortable disclosing the private details of that first meeting to a stranger and even less so to Pippa’s fiancée.

Vic thankfully seemed to sense her reticence and saved her from further unease as she finished helpfully, “She swept you off your feet.”

“You could say that,” Hecate agreed, effectively ending the conversation. 

A disappointed Mildred visibly brightened at her sister’s approach, and Hecate just caught sight of Pippa disappearing from the room.

“Mum went to cancel her appointments for the day,” Ethel explained with a nonchalant shrug belied only by the corners of her mouth curling up into a not-so-secretly pleased smile.

“That must have been, what, fifteen, twenty years ago, Hecate?” Vic mused. “Before all of this even existed.” The woman gestured broadly to the castle around them. “Pippa and I have been finalizing arrangements for the annual Pentangle fundraising gala all summer, and it never fails to amaze me how far she’s come, building this entire school herself from the ground up.”

Hecate bit her tongue, chafing at the retrofitted history, when Mildred shifted her playful gaze to the other woman.

“Fifteen, twenty years ago? Vic, you must have been like just a few years older than us at the time!” As Vic quirked an eyebrow, her brunette daughter continued, “Mother, how did you propose? Mum never went into the details. I bet it was unbelievably romantic too, not something cheesy like a moonlight serenade either.”

Hecate did not miss the tiny smirk and muffled chuckle that her blond daughter tried to hide behind a shaky hand, and she was certain the other woman had not either. Hecate was running through alternative conversation topics that they could discuss, preferably ones that did not insensitively dredge up her past with Pippa, although for the sake of sparing whose feelings she could not say, when Ethel composed herself. “I would like to hear the story,” she hesitantly said, and Hecate felt herself relent instinctively. Her daughter had always asked her for so little. 

“Actually,” Hecate corrected while tugging at her suddenly constricting collar and awkwardly clearing her throat, “your mum asked me.”

“That makes sense,” Mildred declared with an emphatic nod.

“I wish I could say I had shared your confidence, Mildred.” At her daughters’ questioning looks, Hecate elaborated. “Well, we had certainly talked about a longer-term commitment, but with everything as it was then, I never expected your mum to propose.” She had not doubted Pippa’s commitment. They had discussed their partnership at length and had been happily cohabiting for years by that time, but the prospect of family, that had felt beyond her reach. It had felt risky and exposing in ways that Hecate had not been comfortable with back then. Defying her aunt so publicly had seemed a brazen invitation for trouble, and at the time, her career had felt indispensable, a central aspect of her adult identity and one that she had deluded herself into thinking would provide a shield against her aunt’s efforts to bend her to her will. “When she asked me to accompany her on the QE2, I had just been so excited to leave England for the first time that I had not even conceived of the possibility of your mum having anything more planned. By the time your mum popped the question, I was speechless. In fact, I don’t… I don’t think I even managed to say yes.”

“You know, I don’t think you did,” Pippa chimed in laughingly as she suddenly rejoined the group. “At least not until much later. How presumptuous of me.”

Hecate blushed involuntarily, and she wondered if the twinkle in the blonde’s eye was any indication that she too was remembering Hecate’s murmured cries of want later that night.

In the next instant, though, the glimmer was gone, and Pippa was apologizing for keeping everyone waiting as she seamlessly threaded her fingers with Ethel’s and wrapped an arm around Mildred’s shoulders. “Shall we?” she asked, leading the way to the connected library.

Before Hecate could follow, long fingers latched around her arm. When she looked at the brunette puzzlingly, Vic tilted her head suggestively towards her young daughters. Behind Pippa, Mildred was crossing her arms and fingers in the shape of an “X,” eliciting a smile and a similar pose from her sister. “You do know what they’re doing,” Vic said, almost pityingly.

Hecate unfortunately did know. She knew her daughters well enough to guess what they hoped and was wise enough to anticipate the inevitable heartbreak. Observing the witch beside her, Hecate could admit Vic was young, beautiful, and sexy. Not least of all, the woman knew it. Hecate supposed it was Vic’s right to stake her claim over Pippa, and she could no more fault her for laying claim to what was hers than she could for her falling head over heels in love with Pippa in the first place. What woman could help herself? Hecate had been on the receiving end of Pippa’s innumerable charms, and she had been defenseless. If she was honest, she was still.

“I did work that bit out myself,” Hecate surmised wryly. A part of her almost wanted to reassure the woman. There was no competition here, she knew, only two hapless mothers trying to stitch a family back together, a family that would now include Vic, and Hecate figured it would not hurt to have the woman see her as a friend. “But that’s why you’re here. A little touch of reality,” she added with a soft smile. For us all, she thought to herself.

“Mother,” Ethel called out enthusiastically, urging her onward, “we’re nearing the greenhouse. You have to see it!”

After a moment, Pippa offered generously, “Our potions mistress has gathered some of the rarest flowers, and if you’d like, I’m sure she would be happy to provide cuttings of any plants that you might want to add to your garden at home." To Vic, she clarified, “Hecate is a gifted horticulturalist.”

“Aunt Lucy has fritillary seedlings and red helleborines too!” Ethel exclaimed.

Through the arched doorway, Hecate could glimpse a plethora of vibrant flora flourishing in the meticulously arranged conservatory. Pippa stood waiting at the threshold, and as if silently drawn by the blonde, Vic sidled over to hold her hand and press an unobtrusive kiss to a bare shoulder. While Hecate tamped down her impulse to stiffen, she saw Ethel reflexively cross her arms across her middle. One anxious hand restlessly traveled up and down her arm, while her teeth chewed worryingly on her bottom lip, and Hecate hurt for her distraught daughter.

Designed for her, the greenhouse had been Hecate’s passion project from the start, and she had spent long nights poring over the specifications, contouring the ideal temperature, sunlight, and neighbors various plants would need to thrive. But today had been hard enough. She did not want to see how another had shaped it into their own.

Hecate met pairs of brown eyes and gently shook her head. “I’m quite tired. Would it be all right if we returned to the apartment? Perhaps we could visit the greenhouse another time.”

Pippa’s face seemed to fall with inexplicable disappointment, but Hecate only had eyes for Ethel. Placing a steady hand on her blond daughter’s back and smiling at Mildred, Hecate directed her steps back the way they had come. Sandwiched between her girls, she turned her back on the greenhouse.

\-----------

In another time, Hecate held swollen feet in her hands, massaging tight tendons and joints with soothing oils, as Pippa fantasized aloud, “It feels apropos. We’re starting our lives as a family here. What better to signify that than the greenhouse. Plus, it will be an added incentive for you to visit the build site,” Pippa said with a hopeful grin.

“I don’t need any added incentive,” Hecate countered, the tender way she kneaded the blonde’s throbbing feet undercutting her otherwise dry tone. “And we’re years away from the construction phase.”

“I know,” Pippa agreed, “But a girl can dream.” And she went on to cast a beautiful future, them and their two girls seated around the dining table, making waffles on lazy Saturday mornings in the breakfast nook, and an exhausted Hecate was lulled by the soft cadences of her voice.

The cramped, two-room flat faded away, the daily aches and pains of her ever-changing body temporarily assuaged by the alluring promise of after. They had both been expending far more magic than usual lately to avoid unnecessary discomforts. Books were transferred, dishes in the sink cleaned and put away with a flick of the wrist, same with the piles of laundry and full rubbish bins. Showers were replaced with refreshment spells and extended soaks in the bath, aromatic salts and lavender-scented candles easing tired muscles.

“Now your turn, darling.” The warmth of familiar magic washed over her, and now her own swollen feet perched atop a pillow on Pippa’s distended stomach. Strong fingers pressed into her arches as she curled into the heavenly sensation with a satisfied hum.

\-----------

After seeing Vic off, Pippa was in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for dinner. Vic had been so understanding today, and Pippa had never been more thankful for the younger witch’s calm self-assurance. She was so different from Hecate, and Pippa could not help but draw some unfavorable comparisons. She could remember so many times when she had had to dispel Hecate’s irrational fears. A harmless conversation with an attractive barista or the passing glance of some delusional wizard would flare the brunette’s insecurities, and Pippa would have to convince her again of her love. But with Vic, even the unannounced arrival of her intimidating ex-wife failed to faze her. She had given her time and space to reconnect with her daughters, and Vic’s last words had been nothing but supportive. Bidding her farewell with a lingering kiss, she had told her not to worry about a thing for the upcoming gala that Saturday. Pippa considered herself so very lucky, reunited with both of her daughters and trusted by her loving fiancée. It had been years since she had felt this happy.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her blond-haired daughter peek cautiously around the corner. Waving her in, Pippa offered her a freshly cut carrot stick, “Hungry?”

Ethel nodded.

“Well, there’s some hummus in the fridge, so feel free to help yourself. Where’s Millie?”

“She’s showing mother her studio.”

“Ah, that might be a while,” Pippa remarked knowingly. “Why don’t you give me a hand with dinner then, Ethel?” Gesturing to the raw celery on the counter, she added, “You can wash and cut that, and then we’ll be ready to eat.”

Ethel started rinsing the celery and grabbed a cutting board off the wall to stand beside her. The kitchen was quiet but for the sound of their respective knives chopping in near unison, both blondes content to savor the peaceful moment. For her part, Pippa kept stealing glances at her daughter, marveling at this new reality, where they could be together. She thought she could spend hours studying her daughter’s profile, the long blond hair, the curve of her jaw. She traced her delicate features with her eyes, trying to spot what she had inherited from her and what from Ollie, and she longed to hear every mundane story from the past eight years. So Pippa noticed when Ethel opened and closed her mouth, as if willing herself to speak and unable to pull forth the words.

Unlike Mildred, Pippa observed, Ethel was more reserved by nature, less impetuous and more thoughtful. She supposed her daughter had learned that from her other mother, and Pippa yearned to familiarize herself with all her daughter’s quirks. Reminding herself to be patient, she waited. No matter how eager, she wanted to allow Ethel to set the pace of their interactions.

By the third time Ethel opened her mouth, Pippa was on tenterhooks when her daughter finally spoke, “Mum…”

“What is it, darling?”

“When Millie and I were at Camp Walden,” Ethel hesitated, “she told me that mother would send her letters every year on her birthday.” Pippa dreaded Ethel’s next words but forced herself not to react, continuing to maintain her knife’s steady pace against the wooden cutting board. She could only imagine how many times Ethel had rehearsed this conversation. Pippa had tossed and turned countless nights, haunted by what she would say when she finally saw her daughter face-to-face. “But you,” Ethel stumbled onward, “you never did.”

As Ethel fell silent once more, Pippa was consumed by unexpressed rage towards Hecate. Hecate, who had vanished one day without explanation, rebuffing all of Pippa’s attempts to reach her. Hecate, who had unilaterally enforced separation by eliminating any possibility of Pippa finding her or Ethel. How she had struggled to explain Hecate’s letters to a heartbroken Mildred every July, as her daughter tried to reconcile faithful letters with their invisible sender, and how she had envied Hecate for even that tenuous connection. Hecate had robbed her of even that, and how she hated her for it.

During white-hot flashes of resentment, Pippa had often entertained the idea of closing Pentangle’s purely out of spite. She too would take Mildred and disappear into the ether, just so her ex-wife could experience a taste of her anguish. For years, she had tried spell after futile spell to locate her daughter. When she had enrolled Mildred in cottage school, Pippa had combed the countryside. Her voice hoarse, she had called school after school, asking if there was an Ethel Hardbroom registered, despite every indication that Hecate had chosen to instruct their daughter at home. With her history, Hecate had understandably struggled with a deep distrust of strangers. It was one of the few topics about which they had disagreed, Hecate fearful of her aunt’s influence and Pippa far more confident in their ability to protect their children and determined to allow their daughters a modicum of freedom that Hecate had fought every hypothetical step of the way.

On other days, she would entrust Mildred to Ollie or Lucy and aimlessly roam the skies, sometimes beseeching divine intervention and, at others, railing blindly at an unfeeling goddess, who would strip her bare and leave her cold and alone. After particularly demoralizing flights, her pink traveling cloak soaked through with cloud mist, Ollie would warm her shivering frame with a spell, worry on his face and savage fury on his tongue for her ex-wife. Somehow, Ollie’s anger seemed to tame her own, and Pippa would lie awake, despondently wondering why. However unhelpful, Pippa permitted herself these days of self-imposed isolation, some might scoff, pity. For what did Pippa Pentangle know of hardship, her detractors would decry. But sometimes, those days had seemed her only moments of reprieve from the demands of her cheery public persona, the dazzling smile on her face rarely reaching her eyes until somehow, one day, it had.

But Pippa knew those regrets would mean little to the young girl beside her. Although she had on a brave face, determinedly chopping away, Pippa could see how the knife’s edge trembled, leaving less-than-uniform pieces of celery on the cutting board. Swiftly wiping her hands on her apron, Pippa gently reached for her daughter. Carefully placing the knife on the counter, she raised the young girl’s downturned chin to meet her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Ethie, I wanted to. I so wanted to – to write you letters, to see you, to hold you, to be there for your every day, but I didn’t know where you were.”

“I thought you didn’t want me,” her daughter whispered, giving voice to her deepest fear. Tears spilled from her eyes at the confession, and Pippa drew her blond daughter close to her chest, pressing desperate kisses to her hair.

“No, sweetheart. Never. I love you so much, Ethie. I have always wanted you.” Brushing away Ethel’s tears, Pippa said, “I want to show you something.”

Pippa led her daughter down the hall to her personal library-cum-chanting studio and guided her to take a seat on the piano bench. Briefly leaving Ethel alone, she returned a few minutes later with a small stack of books in her arms. Pippa felt her smile flicker nervously as she sat beside her daughter. Gently lifting the first book, she revealed a well-worn baby album with the name “Ethel” embossed on the cover. “I made this for you for your first birthday,” Pippa shared with her wide-eyed daughter. Thoughtlessly caressing gold letters, she took a breath and unveiled its contents. On the first page was a picture of a blond-haired baby in the arms of a tired but beaming Hecate dressed in a hospital gown. Flipping the page, she murmured, “And here’s one of the two of us together.”

The second page showed baby Ethel in an adoring Pippa’s arms. Page after page was filled with pictures of the Hardbroom-Pentangle family: Ethel sleeping peacefully against Pippa’s chest, baby Ethel and baby Mildred gurgling gleefully as they stared up at a mobile of brooms, a serious Ethel meeting a curious Morgana for the first time, a crying Ethel next to a perplexed Hecate covered in green mush, Pippa bobbing in the water with an ecstatic Ethel on their first trip to the neighborhood pool.

When they had finished looking through all the pictures, she gazed upon her daughter. Ethel had not spoken in a few minutes. Despite her halo of golden hair, Pippa could see so much of Hecate in the young girl. In the lengthy silence, Pippa waited, her skin near reverberating with exquisite anticipation.

She felt her daughter shift closer as Ethel asked, “What about the rest of these? Are they all albums too?” She gestured towards the remaining stack as she burrowed further into Pippa’s side.

“Not exactly,” Pippa answered with a relieved smile. “After your mother and I separated, I started to miss you dreadfully, and even though we were apart, I started to write to you.” Pippa opened her long-treasured journals, white pages covered in her looping script interspersed with pictures and other mementos. “Sometimes, I wrote about how much I missed you or what I wondered you might be doing. Other times, I just wrote about my day or a poem I’d enjoyed or a funny thing that happened to me. I didn’t know if you would ever read them, but they’re yours, if you want them. I know it doesn’t make up for the years we’ve lost, but I wanted you to know that I never stopped loving you, Ethie.”

Pippa watched Ethel trace her scrawls with a finger as she flipped slowly through the journals, an expression of disbelief settling across her face as she absorbed the dates of entry after entry that Pippa had steadily logged over the years. The last entry was from just a few days ago.

_Millie returned from Camp Walden today. When you were younger, I used to talk to you both all the time about my summers at Camp Walden. Did I ever tell you that I was in the end of summer talent show? It was my third year of camp, and I got an honorable mention for chanting. It quite went to my head. It didn’t help that I had a crush on one of my counselors, who told me my voice was “enchanting.” I was quite the silly little witch. Camp Walden is one of my favorite places in the world, and I dream of the day we have the chance to go together._

Eyes sparkling, Pippa playfully nudged her daughter’s shoulder. “I didn’t know at the time that all my dreams had already come true.” Pippa ran her fingers through her daughter’s blond hair as she looked around the spacious room. Shadows of what could have been bled through to the present. A bed in place of the piano. Dressers, where sturdy shelves stood. 

“You know,” she confided, “this room was actually supposed to be yours.” Before her next words, Pippa infused her voice with a lightness she did not feel, not wanting to pressure her daughter with her own heavy expectations. She proposed, “Ethie, how would you feel about us decorating it together? That way, you would always have a room here.”

“Will mother and I move to Pentangle’s?” Ethel asked hopefully.

Pippa sighed internally. There was so much she and Hecate needed to discuss. She hedged, “I don’t know, Ethie. Your mother and I have a lot to talk about, but,” she added with a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, “not to worry, darling, not to worry. Your mother and I will make this right. We’ll be a family. I promise you.”

When Hecate and Mildred found them later, the two blondes were seated on the settee, Ethel leaning against her mother as Pippa softly sung a modern chant that lit the room in swirling balls of pink and blue. Noticing the two brunettes at the door, Pippa announced, “There you are. I think it’s finally time for dinner. Ethie and I are famished!”

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

Hecate readjusted her pack and wiped beads of sweat from her forehead. Mildred and Ethel chatted happily behind her, and Pippa was gracefully picking her way through the steep boulders beside her. Hecate was not entirely sure how they had ended up here. She had been all set to depart Pentangle’s after dinner the day before, prepared to exchange mirror numbers with Pippa to discuss any further logistics for shared custody from a more comfortable distance. Surely, that would be a far more welcome plan for them both. She had worked it all out in her head during dinner, while determinedly evading the blonde’s searching gaze. For dessert, Pippa had served an intricate croquembouche, courtesy of Oliver, delicate caramel drizzled atop a tower of crisp cream puffs to their daughters’ delight. As a chorus of stainless steel clinked eagerly against porcelain, she thought she had seen a hint of anger in Pippa’s eyes, but in the next moment, the blonde’s face was the image of courteous civility, offering to refill Hecate’s cup and passing round seconds to the girls. Maybe it had been a mere trick of the light.

Either way, there was a reason they had avoided each other for the better part of a decade, and to be perfectly frank, she did not think she could spend another hour in the blond witch’s presence without falling into unhealthy patterns she thought she had long since put to rest. So she had decided to propose a compromise, perhaps sending Ethel to Pippa’s for the few weeks that remained of the summer and alternating holidays moving forward so that Mildred could join her and Ethel for the winter solstice.

She had risen from the table, disturbing an affectionate Andy, who had been purring contentedly against her leg. Citing her need to gather fresh wildflowers for her shop while they were still in bloom, which was, in fact, true, she had been about to communicate her thanks for Pippa’s hospitality and regrets for an early departure to the girls’ mutual dismay when Pippa had opened her mouth and spoilt it all. Why not search the woodlands here, she had suggested with an encouraging smile at the girls. We could make it a family trip, she had said. Together, the four of them.

The girls had been quick to jump onto the idea. Ethel had gushed about the various local plants found in Pentangle Academy’s greenhouse. Mildred had beamed, expressing her excitement at finally getting to experience the summer camping trip about which she had heard so much. And just like that, Hecate’s evening escape home had been replaced with one rummaging through the school’s camping supplies followed by a restless night of sleep in Pippa’s guest room. An impromptu overnight scavenging trip in the forests by Pentangle’s Academy had seemed like a recipe for disaster, and Hecate had only hoped that she could hold herself together.

Elderberry, willow leaves, elm bark, wild sarsaparilla, red baneberries, wood anemone nightcaps. Hecate ran through her mental list for the shop, stopping every now and again to carefully harvest wildflowers and berries into sealed bags that she had found in the potions mistress’s supplies cupboard. At least, the whole day was not a waste. Ethel had been accurate in her estimation of the nearby woodlands. They were home to a diverse array of flora that would do well to replenish her stores through the autumn.

They had been walking for about an hour when Hecate noticed that she was quite alone. Turning around, she could see Ethel and Mildred’s bent heads hunched by the foot of a large oak tree several meters away. Ethel appeared to be pointing to a particularly verdant patch of ferns propagating among some Solomon’s seal. And where was Pippa? Casting about for the blond-haired witch, Hecate spotted Pippa climbing up the rocky path towards her, her steps weary.

“And here I thought I was in such great shape,” Pippa panted as she paused to drink from a canteen of water that was already half empty.

“I expect being headmistress doesn’t leave you much time to hike the grounds,” Hecate remarked in her first words to the blonde in the last hour. Perhaps this trip wouldn’t be as uncomfortable as she thought. Two grown witches could certainly engage in cordial conversation for a day, especially in such beautiful environs.

“No, I suppose not, but I did just start this wonderful yoga class,” Pippa responded, indicating her odd, rather form-fitting attire. “It’s an Ordinary meditative practice, and I don’t know why I didn’t try it sooner. It shares the same principles as modern magic but with a dimension of physicality that opens a myriad of possibilities for future study. I’m thinking of introducing it to the curriculum this fall.”

“How long have you been practicing?” Hecate inquired politely.

“Not too long, actually. It was Vic, who told me about it a few weeks ago. Said it had done wonders for her stress and her body.” Unbidden, Hecate’s mind pictured Pippa and Vic engaged in other stress-relieving activities. Limber bodies intimately melded together as hungry lips traveled down Pippa’s toned body. The young brunette slipped between willing thighs. Hands skated up tan calves at an achingly slow pace as the blonde writhed in ecstasy. Moaning with pleasure, Pippa unraveled, arching her hips into the younger woman over and over again--

“Hecate, would you like a sip of water? You look positively flushed,” Pippa interrupted. 

“No, thank you,” she stammered. “I-I better go. I have, uh, several other items on my list for the day,” Hecate said curtly before making a hurried escape away from the blonde.

She had been wrong. This trip was bound to be excruciating, a form of long overdue penance as she found herself within arm’s reach of Pippa, who was now blissfully in love with another woman.

\-----------

Pippa was hot and sweaty and furious. Outside of a few stray words, Hecate had spent the morning pointedly ignoring her. The brunette had only deigned to speak to her to task her with the retrieval of red baneberry from a far-off bush, a blatant dismissal.

Thankfully, Ethel had leapt at the chance to accompany her, and Pippa immediately interlocked their hands, taking advantage of any opportunity to shower her blond daughter with tactile affection. On their walk over, Ethel recited the magical properties of the plant’s flowers, fruit, and leaves and the proper techniques for their most effective cultivation. Pippa could not help but smile at her daughter’s passion for botany, a trait she had inherited from her other mother no doubt. She could see Hecate and Mildred similarly crouched by a proliferation of elder plants several meters away, and she could practically hear the older brunette explaining the medicinal benefits of elderberry to boost immune health and tame inflammation as an attentive Mildred nodded along, her sketchbook already in hand to draw the plant’s likeness. In Ethel lived the same dedication to the Craft, and the educator in Pippa found herself impressed by the young girl’s knowledge. As a mum, she was content to simply listen to the cadences of her daughter’s voice.

At Hecate’s prim nod, they made camp in a clearing by the edge of a rippling lake. Pippa was nearly out of water and only too glad for a bit of rest. As she dropped her pack on the picnic bench with a huff, Mildred nudged her sister with a giggle, “Mum hates camping.”

“I do not hate camping,” Pippa protested. Vic too had laughed when she had told her that she would be camping in their mirror call the night before. “I simply prefer the creature comforts of my own home.”

As her daughters scampered off to set up their tent, Pippa eased her feet free of her hiking boots. That was much better. Ethel was showing Mildred how to lay out the tent and position the different poles. Mildred had never camped in the woods before. Pentangle Academy planned a multi-day outdoor excursion for its students each year, but Pippa had always found an excuse not to attend. She watched as a befuddled Mildred stood in front of a lopsided tent. It looked like, somewhere along the way, she had managed to scramble Ethel’s carefully laid out poles to the young blonde’s dismay.

With a groan, Pippa pulled herself to her feet to assemble her own tent when Mildred spoke up in feigned concern, “Mum, I don’t think we brought enough tents.” Pippa watched as her daughter sent her sister a sly glance before suggesting, “Maybe you and mother can share.”

Behind her, she could hear Hecate mutter to herself as she rummaged through her pack, “I was certain I packed three last night.”

With a carefree smile, Pippa strolled over to a clear patch of ground. “Not to worry, girls. I thought one might have jumped out, so I made sure to bring my own.” Conjuring an extra tent out of her own bag, Pippa set about constructing her tent for the night, silently congratulating herself on her foresight. Mere minutes later, she stood back to admire her handiwork.

Joining her, Mildred asked with surprise, “Mum, how did you do that?”

“Millie darling, I have been camping before,” she said with an airy laugh. A few meters away, she saw Hecate, kneeling in front of her own tent to secure stakes into the hard soil, momentarily still. Quiet summer evenings curled into a certain brunette’s side beneath the night sky came to mind.

After a quick lunch, the girls had begged off more scavenging for an afternoon on the water, and Pippa happily obliged. Spotting a rack of canoes further down the shore, the girls had even wheedled a reluctant Hecate into the boat. Mildred and Ethel energetically paddled them to the center of the lake and summoned broomsticks from a nearby storage shed for a bit of racing. Victorious, a smug Ethel was soaring in lazy loop de loops until a mischievous Mildred doused her with water from a well-placed weather spell, and with a shriek, the two girls were off again, entertaining each other with all sorts of daring feats. Mildred was balancing on two broomsticks, while Ethel barrel rolled around her. Summoning a broomstick of her own, Pippa soon joined in, showing off some of her rusty broomstick water-skiing maneuvers with varying results, while Hecate looked on disapprovingly.

She had just rejoined Hecate in the canoe to dry off after a fall that had left all three witches soaked and was wringing her long, waterlogged hair when she noticed Hecate flinching as a few droplets spattered her shirt.

“Hecate, it’s just a little bit of water,” Pippa sighed exasperatedly as she repositioned her shirt, which was uncomfortably clinging to her skin.

Averting her gaze, the brunette merely sniffed in response. Her posture was stiff as she nervously watched the escalating antics of their daughters as they attempted to imitate some of Pippa’s broomstick water-skiing techniques. Pippa was smiling at how well her daughters got on when Hecate gasped as a precarious Mildred slipped off her dual brooms, somersaulting into the water with a loud splash. “Mildred!”

Hecate instinctively flicked her wrist, and the young brunette appeared in the seat before her worried mother. “Mildred, please be careful,” she chastised the young girl.

Sheepishly, Mildred replied, “Sorry, mother. It was an accident.”

Pippa gave Mildred a reassuring nod, used to her daughter’s clumsiness. Mildred was a strong swimmer and had gotten into her fair share of scrapes in the past. A little tumble into a placid lake was nothing to worry about. Summoning a wayward broom, Pippa sent her daughter off with a wave, “It’s all right, Millie. Go have fun.”

Turning to the tense brunette, Pippa said, “She’ll be fine, Hecate.”

The brunette’s eyes agitatedly followed Mildred’s movements as she zigzagged around the perimeter of the lake. Both of her daughters seemed to give the canoe a wide berth, and Pippa chuckled to herself as she remembered overhearing her Mildred whisper something about a “romantic boat ride” to her dubious partner in crime. She did not know where her daughters were getting these ideas lately, the kinds one usually found in a filler “10 ways to” list in Witch Weekly. She was going to have to have a serious conversation with them about the merits of consent and transparency. She wondered at the messages her young girls were receiving. Maybe a new course on sexual ethics was in order. Pippa pinned the thought to discuss with her deputy. What her daughters clearly did not know was how little her ex-wife mixed with boats. Convincing Hecate to travel on the QE2 had been a feat in and of itself. The woman generally eschewed boats, planes, really any form of transportation of which she was not in full control. Hence Hecate’s preference for flying and transference. Something about being stranded, constrained amidst the elements, helpless as she had once put it, magic or no magic, discomposed the woman.

Instinctively, Pippa reached over to soothe the other woman’s frazzled nerves. As their hands touched, she felt a frisson of energy pass through her – Hecate had always had this effect on her – when the brunette snatched her hand away as if stung. A wave of hurt washed over Pippa. For not the first time this week, she told herself, no matter how her body betrayed her, nostalgic with sense memories, the woman before her was a stranger. She could already feel the familiar sadness weighing on her heart when the brunette muttered priggishly.

“Must you be such a show-off. You’re setting an irresponsible example for our daughters.”

Anger flaring and her sadness all but forgotten, Pippa retorted defensively, “I won’t apologize for letting Mildred and Ethel have a little bit of fun. Better irresponsible than smothering. You’re overreacting to every fall. You need to let them have experiences,” she appealed to the former teacher’s reason. “You know that as well as I do. How else will they ever learn?”

When the brunette continued to ignore her, the tendons in her hands straining from her talon-grip of the bench, she knew her words were falling on stubbornly deaf ears. She added with a frustrated huff, “If you’re so worried, why don’t you join them?”

“We can’t all be broomstick water-skiers,” Hecate snapped crankily.

Pippa rolled her eyes. She had forgotten her ex-wife’s tendency towards the dramatic. “Hecate, you’re one of the most adept flyers I know --”

“That doesn’t mean I condone tricks –”

“Even if you are suddenly afraid of water,” Pippa finished provokingly. 

“I’m not afraid of water,” Hecate spat at the ridiculous notion. “I just think you’re awfully cavalier about the fundamentals of broomstick safety on the lake! And frankly,” she noted loudly as their blond daughter zipped by, her ponytail skimming the water. “I don’t see the point of learning to fly upside down!”

“It’s fun, mother!” Ethel shouted back with glee.

Nearby, they heard Mildred let out a cry of surprise followed by another loud splash, and as Hecate’s head whipped over, a cutting rejoinder dying on her lips, Pippa sighed in relief for the distraction. The last thing she wanted was to get into an argument with the other woman in front of their daughters. After a few short seconds, a brunette head popped out of the water. “Let me try again!” Mildred called out to her sister, “I think I’ve got it this time!”

Hecate’s eyebrows could not have risen any higher. “Mildred!” the brunette remonstrated, but the young girls had already flown off.

The canoe rocked gently on the water as the two witches sat mutely across from each other. Pippa watched as her daughters flew around the calm lake amid playful shouts and peals of laughter. Several meters away, they abandoned their brooms and dove into the water. Mildred waved enthusiastically as she swayed unsteadily atop Ethel’s shoulders, and plastering a smile on her face, Pippa raised her own arm in an eager wave before Mildred tumbled into the water a third time and Ethel climbed atop her shoulders.

The silence of their tenuous detente was finally broken by the other woman. “It’s like when she was learning to walk,” she admitted, her eyes locked on their happy daughters. “If I looked away for even a minute, she had toddled away. And now, look at her. She’s flying and swimming. My heart is in my throat. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Mildred’s been swimming since she could walk, and believe it or not, she’s actually a gifted flyer, today’s antics aside.” Pippa knew Hecate was brokering a truce and felt it only right to return the favor. She added begrudgingly, “I used to worry too. Her first flying lessons,” she remembered with a shudder. “But I’ve become desensitized. Ollie says it’s exposure therapy.” Beside her, she could make out a small smile twitching at the brunette’s lips. “Thankfully, our Millie’s practically unbreakable.” The fact that she was standing here was a blessed combination of their daughter’s resilience and a handful of quick-draw spells that Pippa had kept tingling at the tips of her ever-ready fingers over the first few years of Mildred’s young life. There had been a time when the slightest noise had been reflexively met with a rush of her magic, pink sparks flying here and there on instinct until Lucy had finally sat her down to remind her that she was not alone and that the entire staff could share the charge of keeping Mildred safe. Pippa thought her exact words might have been, “Pentangle, you’ve got to stop. I can feel your magic fucking everywhere.” Protective wards had been placed around the school, and Pippa had felt her shoulders relax.

“I feel like I’ve already missed so much.”

“I know. I feel the same way about Ethie.” Pippa felt herself mourning for the years lost as she waved back at her giddy blond daughter. Contemplating the woman next to her, she acknowledged, “She’s … she’s perfect.” Unthinkingly, she reached out a hand to cover long, twisting fingers, and this time, Hecate did not pull away.

The two witches sat like that for a while, observing their daughters in a comfortable silence, until Pippa heard a familiar chime. Retrieving her maglet, she quickly scanned the incoming message. At Hecate’s curious glance, she clarified, “It’s Vic, some issue with setting up the venue for the gala tomorrow, but it sounds like she’s got it under control.” Sending off a short message of her own, Pippa smiled as she thought of her no-nonsense fiancée, clipboard in hand, corralling the team for last-minute assignments.

Next to her, Hecate cleared her throat. “It’s getting late. We should probably head in.” Amplifying her voice to call the girls, Hecate started the paddle back to shore. Drying off their daughters with a quick spell, the brunette pressed a gentle kiss to each of their foreheads, softly murmuring, “You’re both much too adventurous. You get that from your mum.”

\-----------

A few hours later, Pippa and Hecate were preparing to cook freshly caught fish for an early dinner when Ethel and Mildred, who had been gathering sticks for the fire, came sprinting out of the forest.

“I found it!” Ethel exclaimed breathlessly. Her daughter’s ruddy cheeks were flushed with adrenaline, and it was a moment later that Pippa took notice of the vibrant bouquet of blue-violet flowers clutched in her hand. At her and Mildred’s quizzical expressions, Ethel explained, “These are mother’s favorite. They’re hard to find in nature, so mother and I make a game of looking for it every year. And this year, I won!” she declared, looking to her brunette mother for confirmation.

“What do you get when you win?” Mildred asked curiously.

“The winner doesn’t _get_ anything,” Ethel said haughtily. “It’s a matter of pride, obviously.”

“They’re cornflowers,” Pippa identified in quiet disbelief.

“Of course, they are!” Ethel affirmed. “They’re not really useful for potions, but they have the most wonderful fragrance if you lean in close.” She demonstrated by lifting the bouquet to her nose and inhaling the subtle peppery scent before she invited Mildred to do the same. Presenting the flowers to her brunette mother, Ethel gave a pleased smile as Hecate somewhat stiffly accepted the bouquet.

“Well done, Ethel. Thank you. I had completely forgotten this trip.”

When the girls ran back into the forest to fetch the wood they had collected for the firepit, Hecate, a rosy blush dusting her cheeks, awkwardly held the vivid blue-violet flowers out to Pippa.

“They’re cornflowers,” Pippa repeated thunderstruck, staring at the brunette. The unspoken “my favorite” hung in the air between them. Hecate had made a habit of picking the bright annual for her every trip, while Pippa had searched woodland edges for the little pink and blue stars of forget-me-nots for the brunette, a sentimental second to Hecate’s fascination with the deliciously pretty and exquisitely rare mountain avens.

Speechless, she sought out Hecate’s deep brown eyes, and for once, the brunette held her gaze. Embarrassment crinkled at the edges, and yet, there was something else, something far more frightening, searing through to the surface. Pippa took a hesitant step towards the brunette, her body pulled forward as if by an invisible force. She did not know what she meant by it. She just needed to be closer.

She thought she was not the only one affected. Hecate seemed to sway on the spot when the approaching chatter of their young daughters drew Pippa’s attention. Her eyes slid to her girls, carrying large bundles of sticks in their arms as they noisily tromped towards them, but by the time her gaze returned to the brunette, all she saw was a shimmer of air.

When the brunette witch rematerialized a few short meters away, Hecate was immersed in the task of building a fire, her tall frame bent to stack dry twigs into a neat pyramidal pile. Pippa watched as she sparked a fire with the flick of her wrist. The licking flames cast playful shadows that accentuated her features, and Pippa stood entranced by pale red lips, the strong curve of her jaw, the hint of cleavage visible as Hecate kneeled to tend the burgeoning fire. Against the backdrop of the quickly darkening sky, the woman was breathtakingly beautiful, and Pippa felt her stomach clench with desire.

As Hecate stood up, satisfied with the steady flames, Pippa caught a glimpse of something glinting in the firelight before the other woman hastily tucked it under her shirt collar and away from view. 

“What’s that?” Mildred asked, pointing to her brunette mother, and Pippa thanked the goddess for her daughter’s bluntness. The other witch paused in her movements, a fierce internal struggle evident only to the keenest observer in the twitch of her jaw. Faced with Mildred’s undeterred curiosity, Hecate squared her shoulders and reluctantly lifted the thin silver chain on her neck to reveal a ring.

Her ring.

The one she had given to Hecate thirteen long years ago.

Hecate locked eyes with Pippa for but a moment before looking away with something akin to mortification as she turned to answer their inquisitive daughter.

“Your mum gave it to me,” Hecate started.

“Is that your wedding ring?” Mildred asked eagerly.

“Not exactly,” Hecate responded uncomfortably, and Pippa could already predict the woman’s next words. A stickler for rules and terrified of undermining loopholes, Hecate had never felt at ease with ill-suited definitions. She had thought it willful delusion and had preferred to face hard truths head-on, the better to prepare for, she had often said, the disaster anticipated less fearsome than the one unheeded. Pippa had disagreed. She would much rather enjoy a sunny day than sit in heavy galoshes, glumly forecasting the possibility of rain. “Your mum and I were never actually marrie—"

“It was a promise,” Pippa gently asserted, drawing the attention of three pairs of eyes. They had been married in every sense of the word, and she would not let anyone diminish that, not even Hecate. Especially Hecate. Pippa had hidden her own ring away in the back corner of her nightstand after the custody hearing, the sight of it too painful a reminder of all that she had lost. But Hecate had worn hers, and what that signified, she could only begin to fathom.

“What sort of promise?” Ethel asked, joining the conversation.

A promise of love.

A promise of family.

A broken promise, Pippa thought with a sigh.

She gave Hecate a small smile before turning a mischievous grin to her rapt audience. “One not meant for young witches’ ears!”

“Eww!” Mildred groaned. “Mum!” she complained as Pippa laughingly tickled her brunette daughter and pulled the rumpled girl into an amused hug. Looking at Hecate over the top of her daughter’s head, Pippa shrugged before redirecting, “All right, who’s ready to broil some fish!”

\-----------

The smell of crispy, fire-roasted fish wafted through the air as the foursome sat around the picnic table, the two brunettes on one side and the two blondes on the other.

“I like it here,” Mildred pronounced. “It reminds me of camp. Can we come back again sometime, mum?”

“Of course, darling,” Pippa responded. She hoped that this could be the first of many new family traditions. At the mention of camp, she switched her gaze to the older brunette seated across from her and dared to ask the question that had reverberated in her mind over the past two days. Casually, Pippa broached, “I meant to ask earlier. How did Ethel end up at Camp Walden?”

Hecate’s eyes widened, but before the other woman could answer, Pippa heard her blond daughter intake a nervous breath beside her.

“I asked Mother if I could go,” Ethel blurted out as if in pried confession. “I was cleaning the attic one day and found a box of your old things, mostly letters and pictures from when you were young. I saw you wearing a Camp Walden shirt, so I looked it up at the library.”

Pippa hugged her blond daughter, trying to ease the tension from her shoulders, and said, “I’m glad you did.”

Ethel looked apologetically across the table. “I’m sorry for not telling you, mother.”

Pippa observed Hecate soften as she reached for her daughter’s hand. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide that from me. Ethel, you were always meant to go to Camp Walden.” Glancing briefly up at Pippa, Hecate continued, reaching out her other hand for Mildred’s. “You both were. Your mum used to tell me stories of her summers there all the time, some of the best she’d ever had, she used to say. I-I never had that. After your grandparents passed away, I – Aunt Broomhead would never have allowed—” At the sudden pallor of the brunette’s face, Pippa felt her entire body tense with a surging flare of righteous anger. That hateful woman had marred Hecate’s precious childhood and loomed threateningly over so much of her life. Even now, the shadow of the long gray witch haunted Hecate. With practiced effort, Hecate gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and refocused on her daughters. “But I wanted that for you.”

She could have chosen any camp. Camp Walden, Pippa felt certain, was for her, the gift that she had wanted to pass down to her daughters. After all this time, Hecate had honored that. 

“Mother, could we invite mum to see the Honeybee next weekend?” Ethel interjected.

“Oh, that would be the bats!” Mildred exclaimed.

“The Honeybee?” Pippa questioned, raising an eyebrow at Hecate.

“It’s mother and Ada’s shop,” Mildred clarified.

Ethel chimed in. “It’s officially C&H Apothecary.” Of course. Cackle and Hardbroom. “But everyone calls it the Honeybee. I got to name it,” Ethel shared proudly with a bright smile. “Ada loved it, so mother was outvoted.”

“That happens quite frequently,” Hecate noted drily. At Pippa’s probing look, Hecate elaborated, “Ada was tired of fighting with Agatha over the family business, and I was … unoccupied. So we thought we would build something together. I’ve always had a penchant for potions and Ada for people, so we thought, why not an apothecary?” Hecate then said with a shy smile to her brunette daughter, “Which reminds me, Mildred, I thought….You’ve been sketching all weekend, illustrating different plants, and I thought, maybe, you could draw something for the shop. We could do with some art on the walls to liven up the store, and I thought it might be something you would like.”

Pippa watched Mildred’s jaw drop open as she bolted up in her seat, her braids flapping from her excitement. “Definitely! I’ve already got so many ideas! Mum!” Mildred shouted with glee at Pippa.

“That’s wonderful, Millie,” Pippa affirmed. Mildred was practically radiating, while next to her, Hecate picked at her fish with renewed vigor. With Hecate, every action was delivered with such intentionality, and she wondered how long the woman had been mulling over the suggestion.

Pippa had buried so many unanswered questions, and somehow, she had managed to carry on. Denied closure, she had imagined Hecate’s responses, filling out the ending to their tattered story as best she could, but this woman across from her baffled her. She was a woman of nonsensical contradictions, absence and constancy, silence and expressions of love, such strength and, at the same time, such overwhelming fear, but if there was one thing she knew of Hecate Hardbroom, she was a woman driven by logic. She did nothing without reason, and Pippa had to know. Conjuring a bag of fluffy marshmallows, she resolved, after the girls were in bed tonight, she would demand her answers. “Now, no camping trip is complete without sweets. Who wants marshmallows?”

The girls’ cheers drowned out the faint “before bed?” uttered by Hecate, outvoted once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not at all familiar with English wildflowers, but apparently, in folklore, young men, who believed they were in love, wore cornflowers, and if the flower faded quickly, it meant that their love was not returned.


	16. Chapter 16

Settling on the picnic bench, Hecate conjured herself a warm blanket to drape across her shoulders and gazed out at the tranquil lake, soothed by the steady lap of water against the shore and the inky expanse of the starry night sky above. Here, surrounded by the quiet rustle of leaves and the familiar chirp of crickets, she felt safe and able to sit with the tumult of the day, away from the hopeful eyes of her young daughters and the blond witch’s curious stares.

It had all felt a little much. It would be so easy to fall into the rhythms of Ethel and Mildred. And Pippa. She had to remind herself to be present without expecting anything more. A one-day trip was very different from a commitment to family, to finding a way to raise the girls together. She knew she was prone to skip ahead, her unreliable heart eager to misinterpret sympathetic touches and laughter and to erase all-too-real fiancées and custody agreements. In the darkness, alone with her thoughts, she could separate fact from fiction.

After a few minutes, Hecate heard the zip of a tent behind her and the crunch of tentatively approaching footfalls. She had expected as much and had been dreading this interaction all evening. Wishful thinking had already almost carried her away, and she knew she would need her wits about her tonight.

“Mind if I join you?” Pippa softly asked.

Hecate scooted slightly over on the picnic bench in invitation as Pippa sat down beside her.

“I think this is the first time we’ve been alone all day.”

“Not quite alone,” Hecate responded, tilting her head towards the nearby tent, from which she could hear her daughters’ hushed giggles.

“Well, almost,” Pippa conceded.

As if on cue, a second later, the lake was lit by a multitude of candles floating on the water, and strings of fairy lights appeared on the surrounding trees, their faint glow reflecting off the surface of the lake. The whole scene screamed of idyllic romance, and Hecate had to suppress a wince at the gaudy display of magic, magic far beyond the abilities of two underage witches, she was slow to realize.

“I hope you know that this,” she felt the need to clarify, “wasn’t me.” The last thing she wanted was for Pippa to think that she was trying to undermine her relationship with Vic. Pippa deserved better, and so did her girls. Fanning the flames of her daughters’ misguided hopes would only set them up for further disappointment, and Hecate would do anything to protect them from that.

“Oh, I know,” Pippa replied with a sigh. “They mean well, and I think the girls might have had some help with this one. This has Ollie written all over it.”

For a moment, the two witches sat in contemplative silence, Hecate swallowing the rising ball of tension in her throat, and as for Pippa, Hecate had no idea what was running through the blonde’s mind at the evidence of their daughters’ schemes being supported by her oldest friend. She felt almost indignant on Pippa’s behalf, but her body was wound to capacity containing her own roiling anxiety and she would be lying if she did not say she felt a smidge of sympathy for the wizard so clearly wrapped around her daughters’ little fingers. She had been on the receiving end of those pouts and found herself no match for even the possibility of letting them down any more than she already had. How quickly she had climbed into that rickety canoe earlier that afternoon against her better instincts.

Pippa, on the other hand, seemed to take the prank in stride. “What are we going to do about our girls? Now that they know about each other, we certainly can’t keep them apart.”

Hecate did not disagree. It was the how that eluded her.

“I was thinking,” Pippa carefully proposed, “that Ethel could go to school at Pentangle’s. Then she and Millie would be together, with me, and I could send Millie to you for the summer holidays. And of course, you’d be welcome to visit any time,” Pippa was quick to reassure. “It would only be a broomstick ride away, and I already have a room for Ethel.”

“I know,” Hecate acknowledged. “You left the layout exactly the same.” As she spoke, she suspected Pippa’s mind was drifting to the very conversation Hecate was remembering. Having just tucked their sleepy daughters into bed after a story, Pippa had gently closed the door and turned to Hecate with a lazy grin. Then, slipping an arm around Hecate’s waist and leaning her head on the brunette’s shoulder, she had offhandedly commented, “They’re getting so big. Tonight, a story each. Pretty soon, they’ll be two independent little girls, with their own hobbies and fashions and bed--,” Pippa ended with a large yawn, “--rooms.” Hecate had quietly laughed before guiding a very tired Pippa to their own bedroom. That night, she had spread the blueprints out on their drafting table and gotten to work on revisions to add a third bedroom and a second bath to their future home. When Pippa had awoken the next morning, Hecate had shown the sleep-tousled blonde the changes, teasing, “Can you imagine the four of us sharing a single bathroom when they got older?” She recalled being so excited that morning, naively certain of a future that had faded into nothing more than lines drawn on a page within a few short months.

Hecate felt a hand cover her own, calming the soothing circles she had unthinkingly been tracing against the back of her hand. Pippa admitted, “I couldn’t bear to change it.” As Hecate’s hands stilled, she felt Pippa slowly lean closer, and her body hummed in response to the scent of the blonde in the cool night air. Feather-light fingers faintly brushed across her collarbone as Pippa carefully gathered the silver chain to lift the ring hanging around her neck. Her high-collared dresses usually hid the ring from view, and for the second time that evening, the brunette chastised herself for her poor choice of attire. Pippa’s voice was a whisper, “You still wear it.” Her brown eyes seemed to search Hecate’s own, and all Hecate could do was stare helplessly back.

Whatever Pippa saw reflected there seemed to embolden her as she shifted ever closer. She bit her lower lip, her face taking on a look of resolve and, Hecate had the fleeting thought, perhaps a little bit of fear. The blond witch cautiously probed, “I don’t know if we’ll ever be truly alone again, so I have to ask. Why did you leave, Hecate?”

Hecate released a stuttered breath and started to drop her gaze when she heard Pippa plead, “Please, Hiccup,” and at the familiar endearment, Hecate found she could not look away. “You never answered any of my letters, and then, suddenly, you disappeared altogether. I thought I would never see you again,” she trailed off. Hecate felt a sharp pain in her chest, her breath smothered. She could practically feel Pippa trembling beside her.

Instinctively, Hecate opened her blanket to wrap around the blonde’s shoulders, and as if time had reversed, Pippa slid closer to rest her head against Hecate’s shoulder, her warm body effortlessly molding into her side. Closing her eyes, Hecate felt herself get lost in the moment. Transported by the scent of Pippa’s hair, Hecate confessed in a low voice, “We had drifted apart, Pippa. You were always away at conferences and galas, while I stayed home to watch the girls. I-I barely saw you anymore, and when I did, we would fight over the smallest of things.”

In fact, they had fought that evening about Pippa attending a last-minute two-day conference in Hong Kong, an international gathering of witches and wizards on modern magical innovations, where Pippa could woo prospective donors. Pippa had been beautifully bedecked in an exquisite gown, only the scowl on her face detracting from the picture, and in her own frustrated way, Hecate had tried and failed to ask Pippa not to go. Hecate had never been very good at asking for help, and even now, eight years later, she struggled for words.

“We didn’t fit anymore, so I left.”

Watching Pippa fly off into the night, she had felt so lonely. She had decided then and there to pack a small suitcase for her and the girls, just for a few days she had told herself, as she flew to Ada’s house in the country. Hecate had not seen Pippa since. Opening her eyes to stop the flood of intrusive images, Hecate grounded herself in the view of the lake before her. With a slight shrug that failed to belie her thoughts, Hecate whispered, “And you didn’t come after me.”

From beside her, Pippa gently lifted her head to gaze at her once more with tear-filled eyes, “I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Hecate quietly dismissed. “You were busy preparing to break ground on your school --”

“Our school,” Pippa interjected. “It was always our school, Hiccup, and I would never have chosen Pentangle’s over you and our girls.” She stretched out a hand to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind Hecate’s ear, her palm resting lightly against her cheek. “I was so in love with you, Hecate.” Her thumb stroked Hecate’s cheek in a tender caress, while her eyes clouded with regret. “I don’t think I said that enough at the end.”

Pursing her lips uncomfortably, Hecate shrugged. “Well, it all turned out. With Aunt Broomhead, it was only a matter of time.” By that point, the rupture of her family had felt all but inevitable, and Hecate’s thoughts had been weighted by the taint of the Hardbroom name, her aunt’s demands for greater involvement in the girls’ lives clawing at her battered conscience. Years of the life she had so painstakingly built had been collapsing in succession around her, and she had felt so powerless, a burden on Pippa, a blood tie to her aunt, who would only bring cutting vitriol into her daughters’ lives. It had felt easier to remove herself from the equation altogether. It had been necessary, she reminded.

“You were able to protect Mildred, and Ethel and I, she didn’t bother with us anymore. We were safe too.” Allowing herself Ethel had been a product of her profound selfishness, but she had not been able to abide the thought that she would be deprived of both of her girls. It was a decision she had questioned many times over the years.

“We could have found another way,” Pippa said with quiet conviction that tore through Hecate’s precarious defenses as if they were flimsy webs of silk. Pippa had always had a way of talking Hecate off her ledges, a solitary lantern in the cavern of her abyss, shrinking her ghosts into the mere flicker of shadows dispelled with the dawn.

Hecate shook her head falteringly, “I can’t believe that. I can’t.” She struggled to keep the waves of remorse at bay. “Please let’s not talk about things we can’t change anymore,” she said firmly, hoping Pippa heard strength and not the aching anguish that pulsed through her veins.

With a question in her eyes, Pippa began to slowly close the space between them once more. Hecate’s heart thrummed in her chest. No, no, no, but she suspected her eyes betrayed her when she felt the heat of Pippa’s breath against her lips.

Mercifully, the cheery ding of Pippa’s maglet vibrating against the table halted the blonde’s advance.

Blinking, Hecate gently pulled away. Her eyes latched onto the lake before her, the burning candles casting a soft glow, an immaculate set designed by childish fantasies. How she had allowed herself to get swept away. Flexing her fingers into a fist, in one swift motion, she extinguished the candles and disappeared the lights. It was a fire hazard. When only the stars above remained, she could still feel Pippa’s eyes upon her. The blonde had not moved. With the renewed clarity of distance, Hecate murmured, “You should get that. It might be Vic.”

“Hecate,” Pippa softly started.

With a slight shake of her head, Hecate wrapped the blanket around Pippa’s shoulders and raised herself from the bench. “Good night, Pippa.”

As she retreated towards her tent, she heard Pippa call out, “Hecate.” Illuminated by the maglet in her hand, she broached, “Everything’s set for the fundraiser tomorrow. Would you and Ethie come?”

“I don’t know, Pippa,” Hecate demurred.

“Please? It was always our school, Hiccup. It would mean a lot to me if we could all go, as a family.”

Family. Hecate remembered the last time she had entertained the idea of a family with Pippa at her side. It had wrecked her, but a part of her, the young and innocent part of her that still believed in happy endings and redemption, wondered if this time might be different. And Hecate never had been very good at protecting her heart from Pippa Pentangle.

So it was that the next morning, Pippa shared the news with Ethel and Mildred that they would all go to the Pentangle’s fundraising gala together that evening. Ethel’s eyes widened like saucers at the thought that she would be at one of the events that she had so often read about, and Mildred was already racing through what she could possibly wear. Mum almost never invited her to these events, much preferring to shield her from the politics and spectacle involved in running one of England’s most prestigious academies. As for Hecate, smiling nervously at her daughters, she tried to convince herself that she was only doing this for them, but as she sat by her mirror that evening, dressed in a flattering black gown that she had borrowed from Pippa’s closet and magically altered to fit her body, her thick brown hair arranged into an elegant updo, Hecate had a sinking suspicion that the night would end in disappointment and heartbreak.

\-----------

Pippa was pacing in the front hall, her pink heels clacking restlessly on the tiled floor, as she waited for her girls and Hecate to appear. To distract herself, she had decided to run through a mental list of the tasks that demanded her attention this evening when without warning, Ollie materialized beside her, looking handsome in a stylish black tuxedo.

“Ollie!” she exclaimed with a jump.

Laughing, Ollie playfully admonished his visibly anxious friend. “Pippa, you need to relax. Tonight’s your big night. This is your element, and everything will be fine. You look gorgeous, by the way.”

Although dressed in her signature look, an off-the-shoulder pink gown that perfectly complemented her tan skin and accentuated her toned legs, Pippa felt unsettled. In place of her usual confidence, she felt gnawing self-doubt. She recognized her fears as mostly exaggerated, but that acknowledgement did little to assuage the pinch between her eyes and the rapid flutter in her chest. She knew how to assume her larger-than-life personality of Pippa Pentangle and how to be Mildred’s mum, but she had rarely attempted to do both at the same time. With Ethel and Hecate thrown into the mix, Pippa wondered whether she had overextended herself with this impromptu invitation. She reached out for her best friend’s hand, and with the habit of years, the once spindly boy gave it willingly.

“It’s not the donors I’m worried about,” she confided. “I want the girls and Hecate to have a good time tonight.”

“And they will. Don’t you worry; Uncle Ollie is here to entertain,” he smirked with a flourish. “As for Hecate,” he teased, “how was last night?”

At that, Pippa gave her friend a none too light smack on the shoulder with her clutch.

“Ouch!” he said, massaging his sore shoulder. “Not well, huh?”

“Ollie, you deserve worse,” she chastised with a glare. “Getting the girls’ hopes up like that. What were you thinking? And Hecate’s skittish enough as it is. I don’t need you adding any more pressure. I’m half-surprised she hasn’t disappeared already.”

Her last words must have been laced with worry as the wizard quickly enveloped her in a solid embrace, and for a moment, Pippa tucked her head into his lean chest, giving herself a moment to hide away from the world. The sound of Ollie’s steady heartbeat, pumping in and out, in and out, seemed to calm her own as he said apologetically, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to help. You two can both be so stubborn, but I’m sorry if I made things worse.”

“I don’t know if you made things worse,” Pippa hedged into his shirt. Her shoulders slumped. “I just, I don’t know. I’ve spent such a long time trying to forget Hecate. I forgot how much I missed her. I … I don’t know. You must think me hopelessly naïve.”

“Never.”

Ollie’s unflappable support seemed to burst open the floodgates of her conflicted thoughts. She did not even know how she could be conflicted. She had been perfectly fine. She had been great, yet for not the first time, she bemoaned, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her fingers crumpled the expensive fabric of his shirt, and she childishly tugged on his striped silken tie for good measure.

Freeing himself with a slight choke, Ollie made a show of readjusting his tie and waving a hand to restore his dress shirt to its former dry-cleaned crispness. Raising a hand in solemn vow, his other hand crossed over his chest, he replied, “I was sworn to secrecy. That Ethie’s a tough negotiator,” he remarked with faux-begrudged admiration.

On a more serious note, the wizard added emphatically, “And she’s here, Pippa. She’s actually here. Do try to enjoy that, and as for the rest,” he said with a reassuring squeeze, “maybe this is your chance to figure it out. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Pippa gave a small smile at her friend’s concern. “I don’t know if I ever stopped.”

Before she could say anything more, she heard pattering feet and turned to see Ethel and Mildred traipsing down the stairs in their finest dresses and matching grins.

“You look beautiful, girls.” Pippa greeted them each with a hug and a kiss to the forehead, her heart swelling with pride.

“Absolutely ravishing,” Ollie wholeheartedly agreed. “Ethel, come give your Uncle Ollie a hug. I’ve already missed you terribly. You know, you’re the spitting image of your mum at this age,” he said with fondness as he gave his goddaughter a hug. “And Millie, kiddo, it sounds like you’ve been a busy little bee on your first foray into the great outdoors,” he said with a wink, mussing the brunette’s hair.

“Uncle Ollie! This took ages!” Mildred protested.

“Ah,” with a twist of his wrist, Ollie smoothed the young girl’s hair. “What was I thinking? I don’t know how many times your mum has told me to never mess with a woman’s hair. Now it’s exactly as it was.” Directing his attention back to his best friend, he queried with a raised eyebrow, “And Vic?”

Pippa returned with a small frown, “She’ll be meeting us there.” There was only understanding in her friend’s eyes. Everything had happened so suddenly. Pippa felt like she was still catching her breath, and with the gala, tonight hardly seemed the day to process through her confusing storm of emotions.

At Ollie’s subtle nod behind her, Pippa turned around to see Hecate descending the staircase. Her long, thick brown hair pulled up away from her face, Hecate looked magnificent in her black evening gown. Pippa felt a wide smile spread across her face as she took a deep breath, and her unfiltered thoughts seemed to trip out of her mouth of their own accord. “Hecate, you’ve never looked more beautiful.”

“And you as well.” At Hecate’s shy smile and appreciatively lingering gaze, Pippa could feel herself blushing like a schoolgirl.

“Breathtaking as ever, Hecate,” Ollie graciously complimented, pressing a kiss to her hand.

“Oliver,” Hecate acknowledged guardedly. With dancing eyes, Pippa suppressed a chuckle. Ollie and Hecate had always tended to rub each other the wrong way, Hecate often interpreting Ollie’s propensity for the ridiculous as smug mockery and Ollie’s usual good humor tested by Hecate’s determined opacity. But whatever their differences, Ollie had been fiercely protective of the brunette. He had understood all too well the challenges of carrying the mantle of parental expectation and constantly falling short. Easing away, Pippa allowed herself to be dragged away by her daughters to give her oldest friend and her ex-wife a moment to reconnect.

\-----------

As an excited Ethel and Mildred pulled Pippa through the entrance doors to the front lawn, the girls twirling in their dresses, Oliver gallantly offered the brunette witch his arm, “Shall we?”

Threading her arm through his, Hecate walked comfortably alongside the wizard across the school’s expansive courtyard until Oliver ruined the peace by speaking. “It looks like the fresh air has done you good. How was the trip?”

“You're meddling, Oliver,” Hecate replied with a hint of warning.

“Only when the situation calls for it, and don’t worry. I’ve already promised to be on my best behavior tonight.” After a beat, the wizard continued. He never had been able to help himself. “But let me say this.” His ice blue eyes bore into Hecate’s as he declared baldly, “You love her.”

There was no question in the statement, tossed out as a matter of course, and Hecate almost felt compelled to deny it. Almost. She had never quite mastered the art of deceit, and Oliver would undoubtedly see through her feeble efforts now. The thought of the self-satisfied wizard’s contempt effectively silenced Hecate, and she pressed her lips together in mute frustration.

“Is it so hard to believe that she might still love you too?”

Hecate shook her head dismissively, as if warding against his incisive words. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“That makes two of us,” he batted back.

Tact had never been Oliver’s strong suit, but she was surprised by his dogged persistence. He had always respected Pippa’s wishes before. Then again, what did she know of the man now? That had been a lifetime ago.

She asserted peevishly, “She’s happy.” The less said, she felt, the better.

“She was happy with you too,” he countered, and Hecate sniffed with bristling aggravation. How Oliver whitewashed the past. Pushed unfeelingly into the role of her own prosecutor, her own coroner, Hecate felt sick to her stomach. It was another form of torture to have to analyze the remains of her failed relationship and with Oliver of all people. “Not always,” she said between gritted teeth.

“No, not always,” he conceded, and Hecate supposed reason had finally prevailed when the wizard pinned her with those clear blue eyes. “But most of the time.” His eyes held a startling depth of compassion that she had rarely seen directed at her.

In response, Hecate squeezed her own shut, the kindness almost worse than the deliberate provocations. Relentless, his voice cut through the darkness. “You hurt her, Hecate. But I’m still rooting for you.”

Oliver was a man of many words where few would do, and Hecate braced herself for a barrage of accusations, a reckoning, which she knew the wizard was more than equipped to deliver. Empathy had never curbed his tongue before. But none came. When she finally opened her eyes, she was alone on the grounds. Oliver’s silhouette was ascending into the sky, and the weight of his words, that patronizing permission, hung heavily in the air.


	17. Chapter 17

When the Hardbroom-Pentangle clan plus one Oliver Splendorgrass stepped into the spacious hall, it was crowded with witching society’s most fashionable witches and wizards. On the stage was assembled a twelve-piece band, the light glinting off rows of brass, extending trombones and blasting trumpets, as they filled the hall with lively swing music. A witch was tickling the keys of a grand piano, while another tapped out a rhythmic beat on the snare, and a lanky wizard plucked the strings of a tall bass. Several witches and wizards had already ventured out onto the dance floor, jiving to the music.

Upon their entrance, Vic, her svelte figure on display in a backless, black dress that seemed a perfect mix of sophistication and sex, met them, accompanied by a sleek young man in a tailored midnight blue suit, who could only be the event photographer from the look of the top-quality camera slung over his shoulder.

“Pippa, finally!” she said, giving the blonde a quick peck hello. “You brought the whole family. How cute.” Welcoming Hecate and Oliver with a kiss on the cheek, she effused, “Hecate, you’re absolutely stunning, and Ollie, dashing as always.” Turning to Mildred and Ethel, Vic gushed, “Millie, Ethel, look at you both all dressed up. I hope you enjoy yourselves tonight. Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I do have to steal your mum away. Pip, Jerome here is ready for you, and we have the press waiting in the back room.”

With an apologetic look, Pippa wished them all a good time and promised to catch up with them soon, before allowing herself to get whisked away by Vic.

Addressing the girls, Oliver then declared with mock sternness, “You heard your mum. The night is young and ours for the taking. What do you want to do first?” At Hecate standing stiffly beside him, he mischievously quirked an eyebrow and asked in invitation, “Hecate?”

With a small chuckle, she swiftly shook her head. She knew Oliver far too well for that and trusted that he would be fine to entertain Mildred and Ethel without her. She needed a few moments to collect herself, galas being oh so very low on her list of pleasant activities. “You all go on ahead.”

“Suit yourself,” he responded with a grin. Hecate mouthed a silent “thank you” to her old friend as he offered his arms to his two goddaughters and jauntily guided them to the dance floor. Within seconds, he had broken into a spirited rendition of the Charleston and was encouraging Mildred and Ethel to follow his steps.

With the trio thus happily engaged, Hecate began wandering about the room to get her bearings. She had only ever been to a handful of these events in the past, early on in Pippa’s proposal to the Magic Council for a new academic institution. They had been much smaller affairs back then, comprised mostly of their friends of modest means, more a show of support than a real attempt to find financial backing for the school. Then, Pippa had presented at a modern magic conference to wild acclaim, and their strategy had rapidly changed, with Pippa flying here and there to meet with potential donors. The gala tonight represented the culmination of all Pippa’s success, and the scale of the evening reflected that fact. In the back of the hall, there were tables covered with savory dishes and regional delicacies, and two entire tables were dedicated to sweets with everything from cakes to flaky pastries, a chocolate fountain, and twenty flavors of un-melting ice cream. At the sight of a platter of donuts slathered with a generous layer of pink frosting, Hecate’s lips curled into a little smile at Pippa’s familiar touch. A bevy of servers dotted the large hall in their distinctive black-and-white uniforms, and when one passed by, Hecate grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray, then another, in a futile effort to calm her nerves.

Surrounded by such glitz and glamour, Hecate was honestly feeling a bit overwhelmed by the whole affair. This was a far cry from her usual evenings with a hot cup of tea and the company of a good book read by the fireplace. Across the room stood the Great Wizard, holding court with Ursula Hallow and other members of the powerful Magic Council. Immediately turning on her heel, Hecate resolved to give the group a wide berth. Thankfully, there were few others she knew in attendance. She and Pippa had never really traveled in the same circles, their relationship one of choice rather than convenience, and tonight’s attendees only confirmed that pattern. Everywhere she turned, it seemed, she saw prominent celebrities and musicians, renowned actors and honored authors, well-known politicians, respected academicians, and influential business titans. This was not the sort of space frequented by humble apothecaries, and Hecate could not help but feel out of place. Once or twice, she stumbled across the path of a former colleague, foreheads wrinkled in hazy recognition, but Hecate was quick to disappear into the anonymity of the crowd, her borrowed gown, elegantly swept up hair, and eight years’ worth of time etched onto her once fresh face enough to leave only the faintest impression of the woman she had been.

Every now and again, amid the sea of people, Hecate would catch a glimpse of deep pink, tanned shoulders, and golden hair as Pippa charmed the cream of witching society into opening their metaphorical pocketbooks in support of modern magical education. Here, she was transformed into the famous Pippa Pentangle, headmistress of England’s premier modern witching academy. She exuded an ineffable aura of confidence, and Hecate found herself awestruck by the woman Pippa had become. She was no longer the awkward newcomer, struggling to build connections with the who’s who of witching high society. Hecate could see without a doubt that this Pippa seamlessly belonged, and that thought sent an uncomfortable chill down her spine. 

On one side of the hall, by the open bar, Hecate joined a handful of other witches and wizards surveying the various items on display for the fundraiser’s silent auction. There were signed copies of Andromeda Pineneedle’s latest release, a history of necromancy in Western Europe; a dinner for two with the entertainment industry’s leading man, Emilio Estrella; a first edition vinyl record of legendary chantsmith, Madam Vespertilio; and front row tickets to the world tour of a famous singing duo that fall. But most intriguing to Hecate was a rare archive of fungi with magical properties complete with hand-drawn illustrations, for which she wrote in a modest bid. It was for a good cause, after all.

Completing her leisure turn around the ballroom, Hecate cast her eyes towards the dance floor once more to check in on how Ethel and Mildred were faring with Oliver when her eyes caught sight of a heartwarming tableau. A carefree Ethel was being spun around by a laughing Pippa. Hecate didn’t know the last time she had seen her young blond daughter look so uninhibited in a public setting, while nearby, Mildred and Oliver attempted to outdo one another with increasingly complex and goofy dance moves, having clearly cast dexterity spells on their arms and legs to spectacular effect. For a few minutes, Hecate was content to simply watch them all from a distance, chuckling as Pippa joined in Mildred and Oliver’s shenanigans a song later. Enchanting her and Ethel’s shoes to tap along to the band’s rendition of “Isn’t It a Lovely Day,” the blond pair delighted neighboring spectators with a splendid homage to the Astaire and Rogers musical. When the band finally switched to a slower number, the group tramped off the dance floor, and Hecate navigated the crowds to rejoin her family.

\-----------

As Pippa turned to follow her daughters off the dance floor, her arm was caught by a silky hand. Vic stood before her expectantly, her face scrunched in sympathy. She said in unnecessary explanation, “Pip, I think it might be time to make the rounds again.”

Feeling a bit petulant, Pippa responded, “Again? I feel like I’ve already spoken with everyone.”

“Well, not everyone,” Vic intimated with a nod in the direction of the Great Wizard and the Magic Council.

Pippa resisted the urge to roll her eyes and waved Mildred and Ethel on ahead. “I’ll find you as soon as I can.” As Ethel reluctantly let go of their entwined hands, Pippa gazed longingly after her daughters.

Beside her, Vic let out a little chuckle at the sight of her forlorn expression.

“You’re such a mum, Pip.”

The odd comment jarred Pippa back to her present company as she replied perplexedly, “I’ve always been a mum.”

Vic seemed to scrutinize her then. “I know.” There was an assessing look in her eyes that puzzled Pippa. “I guess I’m just realizing how much now.”

In the next moment, Pippa watched as the measured look was quickly replaced by one of pure concentration as the brunette pressed a subtle finger to her ear and took a quick scan of the room. Following Vic’s lead, Pippa cast a perfunctory glance around the space with absentminded concern. The band seemed well taken care of. The catering staff was evenly distributed among the guests. The silent auction appeared to be running smoothly, their donors enjoying themselves, and their publicity team was strategically placed around the grand hall to capture every spontaneous moment worthy of further promotion. Vic was listening intently to an update from one of the staff on site, the brunette’s eyes flicking this way and that and her body palpably buzzing with energy. Only half paying attention, Pippa thought she heard her rattle off something about air traffic control and not allowing in any unauthorized press. Thank the goddess. Ever since she had been thrust into the spotlight, it seemed like there were two versions of her life playing out in tandem, the one she remembered living and that of some kaleidoscopic doppelganger willed into being to sell papers. Hecate had thankfully preceded that time in her life. Subjecting Hecate to those vultures would have been a certain cruelty, and over the years, she had done her best to spare Mildred from any prying eyes.

Behind her, Vic was pacing and humming in emphatic agreement to a suggestion only she could hear. The indisputable architect of the ambitious night, the younger brunette was fully attuned and invested in the success of the gala, as she had been since day 1, and Pippa felt incredibly relieved to be in her capable hands. After two months of rapid-fire planning, she trusted Vic’s judgment implicitly, and that partnership had freed her from much unnecessary stress and worry. With Vic managing the logistics behind the scenes, in the weeks leading up to the fundraiser, Pippa had been able to focus on sharing her vision for Pentangle’s Academy while connecting with established and prospective donors alike, whose generous grants would provide crucial funding for the school’s many scholarship students, finance ongoing renovations to their facilities, and contribute to the expansion of teaching and support staff.

Tonight, though, all those usually very important details felt far from the forefront of her mind. Instead her eyes continually sought out her daughters. Mildred and Ethel were meandering around tables, Ollie tagging ever faithfully along, and she could tell he was enjoying every minute. She wished she was with them now. Stopping to peruse the items on display in the silent auction, Mildred flipped through the details of the Nightshade world tour, engrossedly pointing out different dates and venues on the schedule to her blond sister. The two young girls then moved onto evidently snickering over the romantic dinner for two until Mildred gave a none-too-subtle jab to her sister’s ribs, and Pippa muffled a laugh as she watched Ethel’s mouth flap open in response to a wink from a passing Emilio. Ethel had so much of Hecate in her. Ethel may have her genes, but her flustered expression was a mirror image of the one she had seen on the brunette’s face hundreds of times before. Perhaps “seen” was too passive a term. “Induced” might be more accurate. Hecate’s flustered face swam to the surface of her mind, and at that thought, her heart wrenched painfully in her chest. Pippa searched the room for the brunette, but she could not find her anywhere. She was missing it, Pippa thought with a small frown.

Suddenly, she felt gentle but firm hands slide around her waist, her body pressed flush against another’s, and Vic flashed her a dazzling, if slightly questioning, smile to reclaim her wandering attention. The younger brunette seemed to mistake Pippa’s distraction for reluctance towards the task at hand, and Pippa felt a reflexive shiver run through her body as the brunette trailed light fingers over the sensitive skin of her bare back.

Vic whispered tantalizingly against her ear, “Just this one thing, babe, and I promise to make it worth your while.”

It had become a tradition of sorts for the two of them, capping long nights at work with a glass or two of wine and bacchanalian celebration that left Pippa loose-limbed and deliciously sated. Nudging her towards the back of the hall, where Pippa could see the top of Egbert Hellibore’s customary blue hat among a group of prominent witches and wizards, Vic tossed her a last seductive smile over her shoulder before vanishing into the crowd, cued into her earpiece once more.

Pippa tried her best to corral her mind back into work mode, and squaring her shoulders, she started making her way across the large hall with determined steps when she spotted the welcome distraction of Narcissus and Nathaniel Nightshade. She supposed the Magic Council could wait a few minutes more. The Nightshades _were_ influential patrons of the academy.

With open arms, she called out to her friends, “Narcissus, Nathaniel, I’m so glad you could make it out tonight!”

“Pippa, we wouldn’t have missed it,” Nathaniel spoke with a deep voice as the two women embraced.

“And the tickets have had some of the highest bids all evening. Thank you so much.”

“Pippa, darling, anything for you,” Narcissus’s velvety voice chimed in.

Noticing the young girl by her friend’s side, Pippa broke into an even brighter smile. “And you must be Enid. Well met. I’m looking forward to you coming to Pentangle’s Academy this fall.”

“Well met, Ms. Pentangle,” Enid formally greeted the headmistress. Unable to contain her excitement, the young witch asked, nearly bouncing on her heels, “Is Millie here?”

“Millie?” Pippa said, taken aback. “You know Millie?”

Enid nodded enthusiastically. “We met at Camp Walden this summer. She’s the best!”

“What a small world,” Pippa thought aloud before adding with a conspiratorial wink. “Well, I think so too. And let’s see, I think I see her right over there,” Pippa pointed, spying her brunette daughter’s familiar braids by the buffet. “Why don’t you go over and surprise her?”

After a few more moments pleasantly catching up with Narcissus and Nathaniel, Narcissus cajoling Pippa into promising to attend at least one of their concerts during the fall break and Pippa already looking forward to surprising her girls with the trip, she warmly bid her friends adieu to continue her path towards Egbert Hellibore and the Magic Council. It would not do to delay any longer.

Although Pippa found the idea of a Great Wizard altogether backwards in a modern magical society, a sign of entrenched patriarchy notwithstanding recent strides, she considered Egbert mostly harmless. She admittedly tired of his predictable kowtowing, but what could one expect from someone, who still requested to be addressed as “Your Greatness”? No novice in men or politics, if she could garner favor for her school with the old wizard with a flattering smile and a thoughtfully selected outfit to show off her figure, she would play her part, however much it rankled her sensibilities.

As she maneuvered her way through the room, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with her guests, Pippa spotted Lucy by the bar, looking dapper in a tailored black suit, as she chatted animatedly with a stunning older redhead in a deep emerald gown. Pippa was half-tempted to invite Maureen to join her, but the well-connected witch had discarded her social filter years ago. And Pippa could only imagine what audacious comments the woman might make when faced with Egbert. Lucy was hardly better company for any conversation that required even the slightest bit of diplomacy and self-restraint, leaning unabashedly into stereotypes of American brashness whenever it suited her. In fact, Pippa seriously doubted either witch could be depended upon to bother with niceties, especially with a few drinks in their systems. Judging that scenario best left to the realm of the hypothetical, Pippa soldiered onwards, that pompous blue hat a beacon for her reluctant steps.

As she neared the Magic Council, she swallowed a groan at the sight of a familiar formidable blonde. While Pippa could easily dismiss Egbert as more form than substance, Ursula was another matter entirely. Far shrewder than her bearded superior and well-versed in how to manipulate Egbert herself, the Head of Education would surely have come prepared with questions about Pentangle’s fall curriculum for the upcoming inspection as well as its annual budget. While the Council member was no friend of modern magic, a vocal proponent of more traditional institutions for her young daughters, at the very least, she was wise enough not to sniff at the money and influence that supported Pentangle’s Academy. Bracing herself for ill-concealed stares and insidious questions, Pippa politely welcomed the constituents of the Magic Council with her most charming smile.

“Your Greatness! Ursula! We’re honored you could join us tonight.”

\-----------

By the time Hecate reached her daughters, the girls were flush with excitement, and Oliver was dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief, looking quite pleased with himself despite the overexertion. Pippa, she was disappointed to find, had been called away to attend to school business. The hungry trio proceeded to drag her over to the buffet tables, where Mildred and Ethel enthusiastically explored the spread and attempted to start with the chocolate fountain before Hecate provided a reminder that dessert came after dinner, her stern tone brooking no further arguments. With plates piled high, they found their way to an empty round table, and between mouthfuls, the two girls regaled her with a summary of their evening so far, or more accurately, a minute-by-minute retelling, which nonetheless delighted Hecate to no end.

Hecate was accompanying her daughters in their second pass through the dessert buffet when Mildred’s eyes suddenly widened with surprise as she squealed with glee mid-sentence, “Enid!”

Hearing an excited shout of “Millie!” in reply, Hecate glanced behind her to see a young black girl bounding in their direction towards a jumping Mildred and an amused Ethel, her eyes sparkling at the unexpected addition to their party. “I thought you might be here,” the young girl said happily. Hugging Mildred, Enid momentarily pulled back with a dubious look, “You are Millie, right?”

“She is,” Ethel wryly confirmed with a roll of her eyes.

“Ethel!” Enid hugged the blond girl in turn. “So I guess the plan worked, huh?”

“Enid,” Mildred introduced proudly, “meet our mother, Hecate Hardbroom.” Her brunette daughter gave her a radiant smile, and Hecate found her cheeks straining from her own broad smile. What she had ever done to have Mildred look at her that way, Hecate would never know.

“Well met, Ms. Hardbroom,” Enid greeted with a hand to her forehead.

“Well met, Enid,” Hecate returned kindly.

Strolling over, Oliver mused with a twinkle in his eye, “Enid Nightshade, you are exactly as I pictured you.”

“Uncle Ollie!” Enid’s jaw dropped in recognition, and Hecate tried to unravel the implications of the girl being more starstruck by her humdrum friend than any of the high-profile celebrities in attendance at the gala. Nightshade. Something about the surname niggled at the back of her mind.

As the girls inched along the extensive dessert table, lingering to dip strawberries and marshmallows into the chocolate fountain, Hecate caught snatches of conversation, while attempting to respect her daughters’ privacy.

Enid was saying, “So Fliss was out with this girl, and then Sapphire said the funniest thing. You have to read it. She sent it yesterday when you were camping. Here, you can look at it on my maglet. Maud hasn't responded yet. She's a bit peeved by all the gossip, but you know Maud, she’ll probably respond at like seven in the morning.”

Mildred asked in a strangled voice, “Felicity was out with a girl?”

“It looks like it was just a family friend,” Hecate heard Ethel quickly reassure.

“Totally,” Enid jumped in a beat later, adding dismissively. “It was like a family dinner thing.”

It never ceased to amaze Hecate how young girls could have so much news to share from a span of less than forty-eight hours. She wondered if she and Dayo had ever been that way. Besides Dayo, she had had such few friends with whom to share life’s many little wonders, and she was glad that her daughters had been spared that loneliness.

“Hecate?” a voice interrupted. At the sound of the familiar brisk timbre, she felt a clench of dread concentrate in the pit of her stomach. Her ears did not deceive her. Ursula Hallow was walking towards her, and Hecate’s hands gripped tightly around the edges of her plate. 

Willing her features into a bland expression, she said, “Ursula, well met.”

“I must admit,” the witch clucked with a sidelong look at Hecate’s small plate of sweets, “I’m surprised to see you here. Last I heard, you were squirreled away somewhere in the countryside.”

Ursula’s source of information was her aunt, no doubt, and Hecate felt her spine instinctively stiffen, her legs suddenly leaden beneath her in this dangerous tête-à-tête. “Yes, I relocated a few years back. I found city life no longer suited me.”

“I did hear of your and Pippa’s dissolution. Frankly, I think you’re better off,” Ursula said off-handedly, and Hecate bristled at the thought that she and Pippa had been fodder for gossip and subject to the odious woman’s careless dissection. She could well imagine how her aunt’s circles must have relished in her failure and subsequent flight. “Look at this rabble,” the pompous woman said with a shudder, waving her hand in a show of snide distaste, “supporters of _modern magic_ ,” she spat as if it was a dirty word, “every one and not one respectable witching family among them. Present company excluded, of course,” she exempted, although her tone held a tinge of reservation. “The Pentangles did always pander to the lowest common denominator of witching society. It’s a travesty, to dilute the Craft so when our youngest generations are already showing such signs of decline. Don’t you think so, Hecate? Now that you’ve regained a bit of distance,” Ursula condescended matter-of-factly, “you must agree --"

“I don’t, actually,” Hecate cut in, barely concealing her irritation beneath a veneer of polite calm.

“Pardon?”

Hecate took a breath before charging headlong into a harangue, her aunt be damned. “I don’t agree. As Head of Education, I’m sure you’re aware that Pentangle’s Academy is one of the foremost witching institutions in the world according to nearly every metric of academic excellence. Top marks in potions and chanting with comparable rankings across the other core subjects. More recent publications than any other school. Miss Lucinda Pinch was just published again in the _British Journal of Potions_ earlier this month. I would say, Pentangle's, under Pippa’s leadership, has more than earned its place among the older, more established academies.”

Without waiting for Ursula’s response, Hecate railed on, her tongue itching to lash out after being tied into submission for so long. Emboldened, she tsked disdainfully, “Ursula, I’m surprised at you. Surely, you can’t have overlooked the changing landscape of magical education.” The other woman’s narrow notions of magic, defined and perpetuated by an ever shrinking oligarchy of ancient families, had dogged Pippa at every step, and Hecate acutely regretted how she had withdrawn at even the slightest whiff of conflict in the past, leaving Pippa to stand against them on her own. If anything, Ursula’s current speechlessness testified to how assuredly they had counted Hecate among their number and how, even now, they took for granted that she would toe the family line. She supposed there was something about losing everything that she had once trusted and more that stripped veiled threats of ruin of their power. “Enrollment in modern magical departments has been increasing, and we've seen more advances coming out of modern magical applications than ever before. Not to mention what might be gleaned from the inclusion of more holistic measures like graduation rates, parental satisfaction, and student emotional well-being, to name a few, in standardized school inspections. In fact, I thought I had heard a rumor that parents had been petitioning the Magic Council for just such reforms.”

“I see you’ve been keeping abreast of educational policies,” the other witch drawled unimpressed. “Since you stepped down from Weirdsister, I had simply assumed that you had lost interest, Hecate. It’s good to see that you’ve managed to stay …. involved. And what warm praise for Pentangle’s,” Ursula noted loftily. “Here I thought you and Pippa estranged.” There was no mistaking the gleam of triumph in the witch’s eyes.   
  
Estrangement would have been a kindness compared to the near utter erasure of Pippa and Mildred from her life, and in another time, Hecate knew the words would have devastated her. Tonight, however, was not that night. Pulling deep into her arsenal of dysfunction, Hecate managed a scoff. “Oh, Ursula.” From the sour look on the other woman’s face, she knew Ursula could hear every drop of thinly disguised pity in her tone. In fact, the woman looked on the brink of combustion. “I’m afraid you’ve been sadly misinformed. Pentangle's has always had my full and complete support.”

Ursula bared her teeth in a furious smile. “I must have been mistaken.”

“Oh, no need to apologize,” Hecate responded with faux courtesy, fully aware that the woman had offered nothing of the sort. In a fit of pique, she added, “I know Pentangle's has been flooded with applications since last fall, but I do hope that your dear Sybil was able to secure a place at one of the other academies. I don’t doubt with your many contacts that you were able to obtain a spot somewhere else.” Now Hecate had absolutely no idea as to the state of Pentangle’s enrollment lists, but she hoped Pippa would forgive her for fudging the truth.

Ursula replied icily, “Sybil is not due to enroll for another year, but I do appreciate your concern, Hecate. Now I think I’ve neglected the Great Wizard for far too long, but I am so glad that we were able to reconnect. I’ll be sure to send your regards to Wilhelmina.”

“Of course,” Hecate responded with a smooth nod and a pleasant smile, steadily meeting cold eyes with her own. As the woman stalked away with the sleekness of a wounded tiger, Hecate felt alight with coursing adrenaline. She felt powerful in a way that she had not felt in a long time, perhaps ever, like she had reclaimed a little part of herself that had been stolen away. Returning to her daughters on slightly shaky legs, she hardly noticed the blonde standing frozen behind her, a plate of pastries lying forgotten on the table.

\-----------

Hecate had only just sat down when a tanned hand swiped the single pink-frosted donut remaining on her otherwise clean plate. Biting into the donut with a satisfied moan, an exhausted Pippa plopped down in the chair beside her. “I’ve been waiting to try one of these all night.”

At the moans escaping from the blond witch’s lips, Hecate blushed, her mind flashing to legs entangled in sheets and the feel of Pippa’s body flush against her own.

“Hecate?”

Jolted from her uncomfortable reverie, Hecate found warm brown eyes studying her. “Would you dance with me?”

Hecate hesitated, “Wouldn’t you rather rest?”

“Not right now.” Pippa was holding her hand out with such gentleness, and Hecate could not find a strand of resistance within her, all thought of caution vanishing as her fingers fit seamlessly between the blonde’s.

Leading her through familiar steps with ease, Pippa acknowledged with a grateful smile, “Thank you for agreeing to come tonight.”

Hecate could see Mildred and Ethel giggling with Enid by the chocolate fountain. If memory served, this would be their third trip. She expected she would have two very tired girls on her hands by the time tomorrow morning rolled around. “Well, the girls seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“And you?” Pippa asked with tentative curiosity.

Hecate admitted, “It hasn’t been unpleasant.” Not wanting to sound ungracious and remembering the swell of joy she had felt at the sight of Pippa and Ethel dancing together, Oliver’s and Mildred’s playful antics, and the girls’ stream of stories over dinner, Hecate hastily added, “You’ve outdone yourself, Pippa.”

The band took that moment to kick into a slightly more upbeat swing number, a rousing trombone intro followed by a raucous trumpet retort. Pippa sent her an unabashed grin, and with little more warning, Hecate soon found herself being spun around the dance floor. She felt dizzily giddy, being twirled out and spun back into Pippa’s waiting arms, and as she was unexpectedly dipped, she threw her head back to release a blithe laugh. She felt lighter and freer than she had in years, and there was something so safe about Pippa’s hand in hers, the steady guiding pressure on the small of her back. The ballroom faded into a blur, and all she could see were sparkling eyes crinkled in laughter.

She was wrapped up in Pippa, those toned arms slung across her body, as they swayed in time to the music. She felt the tickle of a breath against her neck as Pippa said, “I saw you talking with Ursula Hallow earlier.”

The mere thought of an incensed Ursula sent a laugh bubbling up Hecate’s throat. It was silly, she knew, how victorious she felt, getting one over on a childhood rival, the score so far from even, but it felt exhilarating, nonetheless. Pippa led Hecate into another turn so they were face-to-face, and she spied a shine in Pippa’s eyes that no amount of calibrated restraint could hide.

“How much did you hear?” Hecate asked with a teasing lilt to her voice.

Caught out, Pippa confessed, “Enough.” She punctuated with a snicker, “I’m surprised she didn’t throw a fit.”

Hecate liked to think she had always supported Pippa, but her support had more often than not taken the shape of quiet strength, a reserved undercurrent of constant belief but one rarely vocalized and certainly never in front of her aunt’s acquaintances.

Somewhat deprecatingly, she noted, “I should’ve said it years ago.”

Pippa merely gave a small shrug in response, “Thank you for saying it tonight.”

The two witches danced in comfortable silence then, each caught up in her own thoughts, as the band segued into a slower pace, their lead singer crooning into the microphone. In response, Pippa’s arm curled around her waist, drawing her closer, and Hecate instinctively mirrored the motion as she unconsciously leaned into the blonde, her hand resting on the smooth skin of Pippa’s bared shoulder. She thought she heard Pippa’s breath hitch, but neither woman made any effort to increase the distance between them.

“It’s been so long since I’ve held you,” Pippa observed with what might have been a hint of wistfulness.

“Have I changed much?” Hecate asked, her voice husky with repressed worry, despite her attempt to keep her tone light. 

“No,” Pippa murmured. “No, you’re just as I remember.” She shifted slightly so her hand could trace at the edges of Hecate’s eyes. Hecate well knew that time had begun to mark her face with worn lines and creases, but Pippa only seemed more entranced. She looked at her with such adoration, as if she found her beautiful. With a rueful smile, Pippa reminisced, “Do you remember how we used to say---”

“Long after we’re wrinkled and gray,” Hecate recited from memory.

“--I will still love you this way,” Pippa finished. “Oh, how I’ve missed this, Hecate. How I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too … Pipsqueak.”

For a second, Hecate thought she saw a grimace of pain twist Pippa’s delicate features, but when the blonde reopened her eyes, the shadow of pain had passed. A purposeful intensity burned in her eyes. At some point, Hecate’s feet had stopped moving, although she could not be sure when. Her senses failed her. She wanted desperately to break the contact. She willed her body to move. But Pippa’s arms were safety like none she had ever known before or since, and she was loathed to surrender it. While Hecate struggled, those brown eyes never wavered, affection blooming stronger at what the blonde read upon her face. “Hecate, I still ---”

Hecate’s eyes darted around the crowded room, more aware than ever of the people dancing around them as they stood markedly still. The blond witch followed her agitated gaze and bit her lip, as if reining in the impulse to disclose more. Changing tacks, she said instead, “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Now?” Hecate balked, baffled by the request.

Pippa seemed to consider the question. She said slowly, “I have a short speech in a few minutes, but then we can take the girls back to the castle and figure this out. Hecate, I don't want to make the same mistakes.”

“Pippa!”

Hecate’s head jerked up at the sound of Vic’s voice, reeling from the realization of how this must look to Pippa’s fiancée. Attempting to regain her bearings, she stepped stiltedly back and unsuccessfully tried to tear her eyes away from Pippa’s gaze.

Understanding flitted across the blonde’s face as her hands held tight. “Hiccup, please,” she implored.

Hecate swallowed, uncertain as to what Pippa was asking. The look in Pippa’s eyes, the glow, the softness, Hecate had once taken such looks for granted. Could Pippa love her still? Her heart dared to hope.

“Will you wait for me?” Pippa asked in a hush that Hecate felt rather than heard amidst the band’s transition to a more upbeat tune. She nodded mutely. She had waited eight years. What was a few minutes more?

At Hecate’s nod, Pippa seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, sending Hecate a small smile, before releasing her hands and composing herself for Vic’s imminent approach. No longer enveloped by Pippa, Hecate wrapped her arms around herself, as if to ward off the sudden cold, and turned to face the younger witch.

For a moment, Vic appeared pensive, her brows furrowed in thoughtful calculation. Endowed with a shrewd mind and a keen attention to detail, the woman seemed to take in the blush of Hecate’s cheeks, the resolve written across her lover’s face, the hand that loosely cupped the air as if lost without its mate, before relaxing into her usual open demeanor. She was nothing if not a consummate professional.

“Pip, there you are. We just tallied the count from the silent auction and the pledged donations, and I had to come find you. The event’s been an absolute success. We raised even more than we anticipated, and an old friend’s been asking after you.” Threading her arm through Pippa’s, Vic glanced at Hecate, “You don’t mind if I borrow Pippa for a moment, do you?”

“I’ll be but a few minutes,” Pippa reassured Hecate, and then, she was pulled away.

Hecate trembled at the blonde’s lingering touch as she returned to her family’s table. She felt completely undone, pulled into Pippa’s orbit once again, and she did not think she would ever have the strength to leave her side nor could she fathom wanting to. With Ethel and Mildred chatting happily beside her and Oliver nursing a martini across from her, she felt stunned by this burst of happiness, basking in a foreign wholeness that stretched and filled her soul. 

Her eyes sought out the source of her joy. Finding Pippa’s golden hair, her smile impossibly bright, Hecate savored the sight until she caught a flash of luscious red locks and shockingly red lips pressed to Pippa’s rosy cheek. As if doused in cold water, Hecate visibly flinched as a shock of betrayal ripped through her body. She had only seen the woman once before, but the image was seared into her memory.

“Pretty in Pink: Maureen O’Hare Has Found A New Love,” the tabloid headline had shouted from the side of the checkout aisle. Splashed across the front page was a photo of the beautiful actress kissing her Pippa.

Six nights before, Ada had welcomed a harried Hecate with her little toddlers in tow, and Hecate had spent the weekend confiding in her friend, convinced that her relationship was over. Ever the voice of reason, Ada had tried to dispel the brunette’s fears, encouraging her to talk to Pippa, and by the following Monday, Hecate had regretted the impetuousness of her actions. All that day, she had fretted about, anxiously awaiting a frantic mirror call from a newly arrived home Pippa later that evening. She imagined Pippa would be upset and frightened by the state of the empty flat, devoid of Hecate and the girls, and she had worked herself into a panic about how to explain away her abrupt flight to the countryside.

But no call had come. Monday had been followed by Tuesday, then Wednesday, with still no word from Pippa, and Ada had persuaded a despondent Hecate to run some errands at the grocery store, spouting the myriad benefits of fresh air. Despite Ada’s protestations, Hecate had known without a shred of doubt that Pippa had finally succumbed to the inevitable, choosing the excitement of her new life over the family she and Hecate had built. And there, staring her in the face at the grocery store in plain view, had been unequivocal proof that Pippa had found solace in the arms of another. In an act of pure masochism, Hecate had purchased the magazine and read the entire story over and over again until she could recite every word by heart.

Meanwhile, Oliver, who had been bemusedly watching the besotted brunette witch and silently congratulating his best friend on finally coming to her senses, turned his head to follow Hecate’s eyeline as her complexion frighteningly drained of all color. Maureen O’Hare, the beautiful red-headed actress, all fire and passion and curves packaged this evening in an incredible emerald dress, was possessively draped all over Pippa.

“Hecate.” Oliver tried to capture the brunette’s attention. “Hecate, it’s not what you think.”

“Don’t bother, Ollie,” Hecate said bitterly. She felt like such a fool, playing dress-up and imagining happy endings where there were none to be found. Vic, Maureen, there was always someone. Pippa was destined for bigger and better, far more than what an obscure professor could provide then and what a reclusive apothecary could offer now, and Hecate’s unhappiness seemed to lie in her stubborn inability to accept that fact and Pippa’s willingness to let her. “Pippa isn’t mine, and she hasn’t been for a very long time.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Pippa, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you. We have to get together soon,” the red-haired actress purred against her ear as she pulled the blond witch into a tight embrace.

Pippa laughingly pushed her friend away. Maureen could be such a shameless flirt, and she never missed an opportunity to tease Pippa with her shenanigans. “What’s this I hear about an outlandish donation?”

“How else can I get your attention?” Maureen tossed back with a flip of her hair. “I am a member of the board after all. It only seemed right.”

“As well as one of our earliest and most generous donors,” Pippa said with a grin.

“And don’t you forget it.”

“You would never let me even if I wanted to,” Pippa quipped. Modesty had never been one of Maureen’s virtues, which is what had attracted Pippa to the witch in the first place. A force to be reckoned with, Maureen demanded attention and respect with her very presence, refusing to shrink for the comfort of others. Beautiful and charismatic, she had quickly emerged a star in the movie industry, and now a seasoned actress with a significant fortune at her disposal, Maureen was known as a powerful ally in the causes close to her heart. Thankfully for Pippa, Maureen had been following advances in modern magic for years, and when they met at an international conference eight years ago, it had been kismet. A mentor of sorts, the red-haired witch had helped Pippa forge invaluable connections with other passionate advocates of educational reform, and Pentangle’s Academy had not lacked for funds since.

As the two women pulled out their calendars to find a date to touch base, Pippa felt an urgent tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Ollie, his face creased in concern.

Sparing but a moment to hastily apologize to a confused Maureen and a puzzled Vic, she had no doubt that Lucy and the rest of the staff could handle the rest, Pippa summoned her broom and flew into the night sky, ready to throttle a certain brunette witch.

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A wind-blown Pippa stormed into the entrance hall of Pentangle’s Academy and immediately flicked her wrist to transfer to her apartments. From the direction of Mildred’s room, she could hear the excited rise and fall of two young voices, and she felt her pounding heartbeat slow a notch before her eyes narrowed on the thin strip of light emitting from a door propped ajar at the end of the hall. In a shimmer of pink, she unceremoniously reappeared in the guest room. There stood Hecate, hurriedly packing her few belongings, exactly as she had expected. At least she had caught her, Pippa thought, but that only served to further incense her as she flew into a rage at the cowardly witch.

Slamming the door shut while simultaneously encasing the room with a silencing spell, Pippa thundered, “How dare you, Hecate Hardbroom! How dare you try to steal Ethel away in the middle of the night without telling me!” Pippa ran her fingers frustratedly through her hair, mussing the strands that had been magicked neatly into place. “I thought we had… that we were…. And then Ollie tells me you’ve gone with the girls. How could you even think to do this to me again?” Observing the brunette’s agitated movements, Pippa softened ever so slightly. “Darling, what could possibly have happened?” The blond witch pleaded, “Talk to me.”

Hecate merely scoffed in response and continued to pack without meeting the blonde’s eyes, and Pippa felt her anger resurge with a vengeance.

“You have to talk to me, Hecate!” Pippa demanded. “You can’t just make decisions without consulting me. After the last two days, I cannot believe you would do this to me again.” Pippa felt something inside her snap loose. “You took everything from me, Hecate Hardbroom. Everything!” she shouted. “You play the victim, but it was you who broke our family, you who kept me from Ethel, you who kept our girls apart all this time! And you didn’t even have the decency to explain why.” She said blisteringly, “You’re a coward, Hecate.”

At the brunette’s stubborn silence, an infuriated Pippa whipped her hand to scatter the contents of Hecate’s suitcase across the bed. Clothes and personal items were flung carelessly about the room, falling here and there in total disarray, while the suitcase tumbled to the floor with a loud clatter. Hecate was very much mistaken if she thought she was going anywhere tonight. She would have to plow through Pippa to leave this castle with her daughter again.

Her suitcase yanked from her hands, Hecate stilled with quiet fury, and when she finally looked up to meet Pippa’s gaze, her eyes were deathly cold. Pippa resisted the urge to take a step back as her body braced in nervous anticipation.

“Maureen,” the brunette witch said icily.

Pippa raised a trembling hand to rest on her stomach as her body flooded with dread. This could not be happening. Hecate had never said. All the unread letters, the unanswered mirror calls. All these years.

“You knew?”

Hecate snorted derisively, “About your affair?” Although her voice was contemptuous, Pippa could see the betrayal in the brunette’s eyes as they glistened with unshed tears. “Of course. It wasn’t as if you had been discreet. Even I couldn’t have missed it. It was all over Witch Weekly.”

Pippa had hoped. Hecate had never given those magazines any mind in the past, and it had only been in the one tabloid. In those days, Maureen had assured her that she had given the editor an earful, although she had sincerely doubted whether a retraction would count for much with its readers. Pippa had long resigned herself to the invasive chronicling of her life. This article had been but the beginning, the price of her privileged position as a mainstay of the witching world, but she had never suspected the cost so steep. _An affair_ , Hecate had said, _an affair_. The words echoed in her mind as if in a haze.

“An affair?” Pippa repeated. “There was no affair, Hecate.” She reached for the brunette, but Hecate angrily jerked away. “It was one kiss. Nothing happened. I pushed her away and told her I was in a committed relationship. The paparazzi just happened to be there at the wrong time, and they spun a story to sell.”

“And the beach, the yacht sailing around the Greek islands – was that all nothing too?” Hecate spat bitterly.

Pippa could imagine how it must have looked to Hecate. No matter that she had tried calling her before she left the conference site to let her know about Maureen’s invitation to introduce her to prospective donors and gotten no response. No matter that there had been a group of ten other people on the yacht. Every picture had captured her and Maureen alone, supporting a tale of whirlwind romance that vastly diverged from the reality of long conversations spent discussing her vision for the school. She remembered there had been one particularly sensational photo of the two of them lounging on the beach in their bikinis, the paparazzi conveniently omitting the people around them and capitalizing on the fact that Pippa had had to borrow a revealing bathing suit from her host for the occasion. The feature had been published during the trip, so Pippa had only even learned about it when an apologetic Maureen had called to break the news a few days later. By then, she had been far more focused on the dissolution of her family, and she had always dismissed the fleeting thought that her Hecate would have even seen the wildly exaggerated story, let alone believed the trashy tabloid over her, as utter tosh brought on by flights of paranoia.

Pippa said shakily, “I did some things I’m not proud of in those early days, and I admit that I sometimes flirted when I thought it would help. But I never cheated on you, Hecate. How could you think that?” The guilt that had gnawed at her for years felt like nothing compared to this shard of sadness, growing and seeping into every corner of her heart. She had seen flickers of the brunette’s uncertainty about her trip, and she had often wondered, what if she had stayed that night? What if she had come back on time instead of accepting Maureen’s offer? Would that have made the difference? But for Hecate to have walked away from everything that they had shared together over a few silly, manipulated photographs, for her trust in her to have been so eroded away, Pippa felt lost and adrift.

“What was I supposed to think?” Hecate’s eyes flashed. “For months, you were coming home later and later, and when I asked about your days, you would become evasive.”

“So you let your mind fill in the details, and I was a cheater. Is that how little you thought of me?” Pippa asked, hurt by the accusation. She had tried to invite the brunette into this part of her life. Once upon a time, founding the academy had been a shared dream, the two of them staying up nights envisioning the reforms they would make. Once upon a time, the brunette, acutely aware of how policies of inclusion and a focus on individual student growth would have affected the trajectory of her own adolescence, had been her most ardent supporter.

They had followed the proper channels. Hecate had reviewed and even drafted large portions of their application to the Magic Council, delineating the rationale for a new academic institution that honored witching traditions, while harnessing the evolving contributions of modern magic. As well-versed in the Code as any scholar, the brunette had had a gift for articulating how the school represented an extension of, rather than a departure from, the essential principles of the Code, and the Magic Council had reluctantly approved their proposal with the slimmest of margins. Their victory had been short-lived, however. Ursula had quickly quashed any hopes of a smooth launch. Wielding the powers of her office to their broadest extent, she had unilaterally denied all appeals for funding, effectively cutting their efforts off at the knees.

In response, Hecate had tirelessly researched grant opportunities, but she had met resistance at every turn. Previous mentors, editors and professors that she had collaborated with in the past, would cancel meetings or return her applications unread, apologetically citing new requirements as they pointedly avoided her gaze and succumbed to the collective will of the established elite. The old guard had closed ranks with militant precision, leaving Hecate and Pippa suddenly on the outside staring in. Discouraged but resilient, Pippa, for her part, had sought influential connections among her errant modern magic colleagues. Many already comfortably residing on the outskirts of convention, these friends had welcomed her with open arms, but to her great disappointment, she had soon learned that their enthusiasm far outstripped their material resources. And so, Pippa and Hecate had put their dream on hold, choosing to bask in the many little milestones of their young daughters, while searching and waiting for a way in.

Until one day, the tides had turned. A talk she had given at a modern magic conference garnered some modest media attention, and doors suddenly began to open as Pippa gained entry into a higher echelon of magical activism. In this new world, genuine advocacy hobnobbed with wealthy philanthropists hunting for causes to adopt as their own. At first, Pippa and Hecate had gone to these events together, asking Ada or Ollie to babysit the girls, but after a few fruitless months, Hecate had started to demur. Would it be all right if she stayed in with the girls tonight, she would ask. No, you should still go, she would insist.

Whenever Pippa attended a conference, she would file away little moments to tell Hecate about later, the details of one witch’s astonishingly tall hat that ludicrously towered over everyone else, witches and wizards tripping over themselves to avoid a seat behind her; how a pompous wizard had droned on and on about his many connections until a hard-pressed Pippa had chased him away with pictures of her beautiful family; the witticisms of a witch she had had the pleasure of sitting next to at dinner with whom she had debated arguments in favor and against magical amplification and power transference. Halfway through her stories though, she would see Hecate’s face stiffen with something akin to anger, frustration perhaps, or even worse, shutter closed altogether. She had felt so distant from her wife then, and in her desperation to regain that intimacy, she knew she had pushed the brunette more than usual to confide in her, ending futilely in heated arguments or prolonged silences. Hot and cold, they had struggled to find the in-between, and for the first time in their relationship, Pippa had been unsure of how to bridge the gap. “I didn’t want to talk because it seemed like whenever I brought up modern magic—”

“I didn’t care a whit about modern magic!” Hecate growled in frustration.

“—or anything I had learned, we would argue!” Pippa concluded exasperatedly. More vulnerably, she added, “Do you know how blindsided I felt when I came home after our last fight and found custody papers?”

She had returned home, rejuvenated and on firmer financial footing than ever before. She had secured enough money to start building. The dream was going to become a reality. She knew Hecate would be furious about the longer trip, but she had thought that all would be forgiven when she broke the news. She would finally be home more, and she had thought that would solve so many of their recent problems. But the flat had been empty, no toddling Mildred or giggling Ethel to greet her, no Hecate with whom to celebrate, only a thin envelope that had shaken the very foundation of her life.

Frantic, she had mirrored. She had written, all to no avail, until Ada had shown up at the custody hearing in Hecate’s stead, and she had known then that there would be no reconciliation. Hecate had willed it so. In the weeks after the custody hearing, with a disconsolate Mildred asking after “Ethie” and “Mother,” even her letters had been returned with no forwarding address.

“Well, how fortunate that Maureen was there to wipe your tears,” Hecate bit out unsympathetically.

“There was no affair, Hecate,” Pippa repeated emphatically. “She’s a friend, nothing more.”

“Why was she there tonight?”

Pippa winced in anticipation of Hecate’s response. “She’s a board member of Pentangle’s Academy.”

“Greece?” Hecate prompted, her eyebrows raised as if in full expectation of further brazen confessions.

“Yes,” Pippa confirmed honestly. She scraped a weary hand across her face. She did not want there to be any more secrets between them. At the brunette’s answering silence, Pippa continued, “Maureen read your proposal, and she loved it. She guaranteed ten percent that very week and offered to introduce me to others, who could easily provide the rest. That’s what I was doing in Greece. I had finally secured the funds for our school, and I was so happy. I thought we could find our way back to each other. But you,” Pippa’s voice broke from pent-up grief, “you never gave me the chance. I was your wife, Hiccup.”

Pippa wiped flowing tears from her eyes. She wordlessly entreated the woman she had loved with every fiber of her being, the woman, who had undermined her very sense of self when she had thrown her away without a backward glance, but Hecate returned her teary gaze with unfeeling indifference.

“I was her mother,” Pippa cried. At those words, she watched the scorn freeze on the other witch’s face. “Were you trying to punish me?” she whispered. If Hecate had believed her unfaithful, if she had hated her enough -- Pippa could not bear to finish the thought.

A look of horror dawned on Hecate’s face as she belatedly followed the trail of Pippa’s dark thoughts. “No!” the brunette vehemently denied. “No, of course not.” But the thought, once entertained, was not so easily dismissed.

“It wasn’t the modern magic,” Hecate disclosed hesitantly, picking at the loose thread from long minutes ago.

Pippa found no trace of anger in the other woman now.

“It was all the people in your stories, the wizards and witches you found so fascinating, that you chose to spend your time with instead of me and our girls.”

“By the end, I thought you resented or despised me, that you wanted me to go,” Pippa admitted.

“No. Never.” The brunette uttered the words with such emotion that even Pippa could not deny their truth. “I missed you, and I didn’t know how to ask you to stay.” As if in pain, the brunette looked away, and after a beat, she intoned, “I can’t keep doing this.”

Reaching her limit, Pippa burst out, “Hecate, you can’t keep avoiding this conversation! We need to ta—”

The brunette clarified, meeting Pippa’s eyes once more, “That night, you said, ‘I can’t keep doing this.’” Hecate then squeezed her eyes shut, as if willing the awful memory away, and Pippa felt herself soften instinctively. “And I thought….” The woman trailed off.

Pippa had forgotten. She had spoken in thoughtless anger, but she knew what Hecate must have thought. The brunette had always feared rejection, loss, a fear founded in the early death of her parents and the subsequent cruelty of her young peers. Hecate had confided early on in their relationship that her greatest fear was that Pippa would leave her, and Pippa remembered many a night when she had held the other woman in her arms after a particularly vivid nightmare, whispering hushed promises to love her forever until the brunette fell soundly asleep.

Swiftly crossing the room, Pippa gently pulled Hecate into her arms, cradling her wife to her chest. Infusing her voice with all the love and affection she felt for the other woman, she softly murmured, “I meant I couldn’t keep fighting with you, Hecate, not that I didn’t still love you.”

Like a torrent released, Hecate continued along the now familiar argument that the custody arrangement had been necessitated by her aunt. She repeated the same lines born of fear that the malicious witch had threatened to drag them into the court of public opinion; how she had been trying to spare them from the moral judgments, the inevitable mud-slinging; that by splitting up the girls, Hecate had intended to undercut Wilhelmina Broomhead’s legal claims to their daughters in the most definitive way that she knew how. “I thought you had already made your choice, and I was just trying to protect Mildred and Ethel … and you.”

Pippa knew Hecate in her own way was asking for agreement, desperate for absolution, but this was one point she could not concede. She quietly replied, “We didn’t need to be protected. We just needed you.”

When the brunette calmed enough to open her eyes, Pippa could see the heartbreak written across her face beyond the relenting anger. “Why didn’t you talk to me? I wish you would have. We’ve hurt each other so much.” As Pippa spoke, she could feel Hecate’s shoulders release their tension, and she plunged onward to finally say the words she had been trying to get out all evening. “I’m still in love with you, Hiccup.”

Hecate was silent. With quivering lips and tears spilling down her cheeks, the brunette seemed to search Pippa for any hint of falsehood before shakily replying, “I love you too, Pipsqueak.”

Pippa felt her heart fill with an ineffable lightness. Swept away by the well of love she saw in Hecate’s brown eyes, Pippa tenderly caressed the brunette’s cheek before leaning in for a kiss. Their lips met with all the hesitance of a long-awaited reacquaintance, nervously seeking and sweetly tentative. Tender touches soon spilled into a passionate embrace, and Hecate’s lips were chasing hers with a fervor she had missed dearly over the years. Breathless, Hecate paused to run light fingers through her blonde hair, unraveling the carefully coiffed updo. Fingernails scratched at her scalp, and she could feel the press of gentle kisses into her hair as she used to every evening. The familiar kisses had once been a nightly ritual. Her blond hair cascading around her shoulders, she saw Hecate’s eyes darken as her lips hungrily explored the valley of Pippa’s collarbone. Her Hecate. With her wife back in her arms, Pippa moaned softly with pleasure and relief.

Hecate guided Pippa towards the bed, and as the backs of her thighs hit the soft mattress, it was Pippa’s turn to lavish the brunette. Her hands reverently traced her wife’s features, the ridge of her nose, the slope of her cheeks, the curve of her jaw. Tangling in those luscious locks, her fingers lovingly undid elaborate braids, while Hecate playfully stroked her exposed back. Pippa’s skin tingled at the fluttering contact and yearned for more. Her hands skittered across that long neck to find the clasp of Hecate’s dress, and Pippa allowed the black gown to dip infinitesimally, her lips and tongue nipping and tasting each layer of discovered skin, to unveil her wife’s firm breasts. Pippa savored the revelation. Hecate was magnificent.

In awe, Pippa pressed butterfly kisses down a fair throat, drawing flustered breaths from the sensitive brunette, before directing her attention to a pert nipple. Eager to refamiliarize herself with every inch of the exquisite brunette, Pippa gently laid a trembling Hecate down on the bed, taking care to vanish Hecate’s scattered things into a neat pile on the nightstand. As she settled her toned legs on either side of the brunette’s arching hips, Pippa admired her wife, her body open in unabashed desire and adorned with nothing but a simple silver chain. Splaying her hand possessively against Hecate’s bare stomach, she confessed with an adoring smile, “I love you so much. It’s always been you, Hiccup.”

At her touch, she felt Hecate suddenly flinch beneath her, and Pippa immediately froze in response. Hecate’s body, languid and wanting a second ago, was now rigidly stiff, the tendons in her neck strained, her face shuttering closed. The brunette moved to disentangle herself from the blonde’s embrace, and Pippa watched with growing trepidation as Hecate tensely rose to a sitting position, the ring swinging from her neck as she hunched by the edge of the bed. Raising her arms to protectively cover her naked upper half, she angled her shivering body deliberately away from her, and Pippa became keenly aware of their starkly different stages of undress.

She was self-consciously smoothing her crumpled gown and disheveled hair when Hecate repeated, “It’s always been me.” A hard edge had crept back into the brunette’s voice. “You certainly didn’t wait very long. I never had the impression you lacked for company.”

Beneath the biting tone, Hecate’s voice was laced with doubt, and Pippa felt a familiar fatigue settle upon her chest. She was so tired of defending herself, and it seemed that she was constantly letting her wife down.

“Yes, there were other women,” she responded to the unspoken question. She could hardly deny that she had had many lovers over the years, and more than a few had found their way into Witch Weekly articles that Pippa now felt certain Hecate had read. “But never when we were together. You had left me, Hecate, and I was heartbroken.”

“How many?” Hecate intoned dully.

“Does it matter?” Pippa asked resignedly.

“No,” Hecate whispered. “I guess it doesn’t. And Maureen?”

“Never. I promise you, nothing ever happened with Maureen. I love _you_ , Hiccup,” Pippa reassured tenderly as she held Hecate’s hands in her own, not wanting to add fuel to her wife’s insecurities.

The brunette unclasped their hands and gently returned Pippa’s to her own thigh, her sorrowful eyes fixed on the glinting stone that sat upon the blonde’s left hand.

When Hecate finally met her gaze, Pippa knew she had lost her, and her heart shattered for the second time that night.

“Hecate,” Pippa beseeched, unsure of what she was asking for. A chance. Time to make things right. Forgiveness. Trust.

Giving her a pained smile, the brunette witch said, “Pippa, you’ve done so amazingly well for yourself. Pentangle’s is a success. You’re engaged to a wonderful woman.” Hecate’s thin shoulders curled awkwardly inward. “And I’ve carved out a new life for me too.” The usually foreboding woman looked so small as she acknowledged with a half-hearted attempt at bemusement. Choking out an anguished laugh, she said, “We’ve gotten carried away. This is an argument from years ago, and I don’t belong in your world anymore, Pippa. I don’t know if I ever did, and none of that has changed. Only now I’m the other woman,” she said ashamedly, clutching almost unconsciously at the silver chain around her long neck. “And I,” she said with a barely perceptible shake of her head, “I can’t.”

Hecate’s voice cracked with emotion, and the reverberating echo of her words was not lost on Pippa. Hecate took a deep breath before saying more calmly, “I think it’s time that Ethel and I went home. We’ll leave in the morning after breakfast.”

Hecate stared intently into her eyes, and Pippa saw her own grief reflected. There was nothing left to say.

The brunette’s lips twitched into a sad smile, her eyes crinkling with empathic understanding, and watching Pippa the entire time, she slowly waved her fingers, her wistful gaze following her as she called forth black tendrils of magic that swirled around the blonde. When Pippa next reappeared, she was alone in her own darkened rooms, and she could still feel the distinctive traces of Hecate’s magic permeating the air.

All night long, Pippa sorted through her thoughts, but she could find no rebuttal, no argument on which to stake her claim that this time would be any different beyond earnest professions of love. As the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, even she knew that it would not be enough.

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The next morning, Pippa wrapped her arms around a crying Mildred as Hecate and Ethel flew off into the distance.

Their conversation this morning had been stilted, both putting on a brave face as they promised to alternate the girls for the rest of the summer holidays before doing their best to comfort their devastated daughters. She could never forget the disappointment in Ethel’s eyes as Pippa kissed her goodbye, her own vision blurred with tears. Another promise broken. She had not made it right, and she was not sure she ever could. 

Pippa and Mildred walked back through the castle to their apartment in silence. The long corridors felt almost sepulchral, and upon entering, their once cozy rooms seemed markedly empty compared to the fullness of yesterday.

Without a word, Mildred trudged down the hallway to her bedroom.

“Do you want to talk about it, Millie?”

Her usually gregarious daughter merely shook her head despondently, “Not now, mum. I just want to be alone,” and closed her door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! I had this idea of wanting to post the last two chapters together, and the ending sort of changed on me. Thank you for your patience, and hope you enjoy the rest of the ride :)


	19. Chapter 19

At the Hardbroom cottage, Ethel was faring little better. Pale and even more reserved than usual, the young blond-haired witch asked to be excused early from dinner, her plate still half-full. Ada watched her young goddaughter shuffle out of the room with sympathy.

“Hecate,” she started, pinning her friend with a pointed look.

Anxiously wringing her hands, Hecate shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Ada sent the brunette a kind but uncompromising smile. “I think you do. Don't regret your mistakes, Hecate. Learn from them.” In case the brunette missed her meaning, she added emphatically, “Not everyone gets a second chance.”

Hecate thought her friend was laying it on a little thick, but Ada’s sound advice reverberated in her ears. Only she could fix this, no matter how terrifying the prospect or how murky the path ahead. The status quo was untenable, and she knew that the start lay with her hurting daughter, in whom she could already see the signs of retreat unto herself. Hecate had not realized how alike they were. Seeing the marked changes in Ethel these past few days, the laughter, the freedom, the shedding of far too much propriety and responsibility for the thin shoulders of a young girl, Hecate knew her daughter deserved more, and goddess willing, she would do everything in her power to do better. 

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Hecate tentatively poked her head into her daughter’s bedroom. “Ethel, can I come in?”

She could see her daughter’s blond head bob under the covers. Sliding back the duvet, Hecate settled in beside the distraught girl, who quickly snuggled into her side. Something hard dug into her back, and Hecate reached behind herself to retrieve a slim, unmarked book. Opening it, she saw pages upon pages covered with a familiar looping script, delicate sketches, and meticulously preserved photographs, a testament to Pippa’s constancy and, Hecate thought with a stab of guilt, her loss. She closed the journal. It felt like a violation to read Pippa’s most intimate thoughts, as if she had any right to those confidences, the playful jokes, the curious observations. She carefully placed the book atop a small stack of similar volumes on the nightstand. Beside it sat a delicate wooden keepsake box that she had thought long discarded, wiped clean and in pristine condition. Hecate felt like she was seeing her daughter anew, and her heart ached for her. The scars she bore had left imprints on her child, and she wondered how many secrets her silence had spawned in her daughter’s innocent attempts to shield her from questions about her other mother.

Gently stroking Ethel’s hair, Hecate took a breath and hesitantly started, “Honey, you know you can tell me anything. Anything at all.”

She could almost feel her daughter’s thoughts whirring beneath her hand in the quiet room, gathering up her courage, before she confessed in a whisper, “Mother, I want to go to Pentangle’s Academy.”

Hecate’s heart broke for them both. She had always known this day would come, and there was but one answer. After all she had done, she could not deny her daughter this. “Okay,” she acquiesced. “Okay.”

\-----------

Hecate sat alone in the stillness. A stunned Ethel had been on the mirror with Mildred all evening. Their shrieks of joy had carried down the hallway, sometimes multiplied by a chorus of voices, including the honeyed tones of a certain blonde, and the air of calm spoke to Ethel finally being lulled to sleep. Hecate was the lone awake occupant of the cottage. Moonlight streamed in through her un-curtained windows, shining a thin shaft of light into the otherwise dark room, as she clutched a bundle of worn letters in her hand. The letters had held the softness of old paper, the kind of softness seeped in hasty ink and rubbing oils and dripping tears from contents read and re-read over the years until Hecate had locked them away in a dusty attic. Pippa’s pleas, her confusion, her sorrow, her anger all laid heavily on Hecate’s mind. At the time, Hecate had dismissed them as lies, and it had hurt her to read them. Tonight, the same words pierced her in a different way. Pippa had not been unfaithful. Pippa had loved her, and she had repaid that love with suspicion and separation and a level of damage to her family only she could have wrought.

Hecate wondered at how Pippa could even stand to look at her, the purveyor of her grief, let alone love her still.

A perspicacious woman, Hecate, once resolved, was as determined as they came, and shifting to her desk, fresh stationery laid, her inkwell retrieved, the nib of her quill finely sharpened, she set about righting her many wrongs.

\-----------

Hecate suppressed another yawn and blinked the bleariness from her eyes as she tried to focus on the list of potions that needed to be brewed that afternoon. Running on only a few hours of sleep and a small thimble of Wide Awake Potion, Hecate had been distracted all day, but the smudges of dried ink on her hands and the persistent, quill-shaped groove on her third finger were proofs of a night well spent. Her letters had been sealed and sent off with the early morning post, and a day’s delay on her tasks could hardly be considered to weigh against the acts of her scratching quill the night before.

Hecate was squinting at the stiff parchment, her eyes scanning for the simplest to brew, when she heard the tinkle of the bell overhanging the front door followed by a loud thump and the nervous clinking of bottles. With a flick of her wrist, Hecate transported herself to the main part of the apothecary, a stern look fixed upon her face, when she was nearly bowled over by an energetic ball of gangly limbs wrapping around her middle.

“Mother!” her daughter shouted, her cheeks tinged pink with a little embarrassment.

“Mildred! What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Fine, I, uh, I just tripped over my laces and stumbled into the cabinet. But don’t worry, Aunt Lucy steadied the whole thing before anything happened.”

Hecate glanced up to see Miss Lucinda Pinch giving her a jaunty wave from a corner of the shop, the basket hanging from her arm already half-filled with a colorful mix of tinctures. Hecate gaped at her daughter, a silly smile spreading across her face despite herself at the unexpected visit.

Mildred pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and thrust it enthusiastically under her nose for inspection. “Mum sent me over with the supply lists for Pentangle’s. We figured me and Ethel could shop for a few things here, and mum said I could stay for the week. If you said it was okay,” Mildred added eagerly. “She said I had to ask first.”

“Of course,” Hecate stuttered out, still catching up with her daughter.

“Where’s Ethel?” Mildred asked with a quick survey around the Honeybee, craning her neck to peer into the back room.

“Well, Mildred, Ethel’s still at home. Likely sleeping.”

“I’m up before Ethel?” Mildred said with a grin, tickled at the thought. “That never happens.”

“She did have quite a lot of excitement last night, but I’m sure she’d be happy to see you. I have to mind the store until Ada gets in, but you’re welcome to pop by the cottage now, if you’d like.”

Mildred nodded eagerly. “Aunt Lucy, do you want to see the cottage?”

“Later!” the preoccupied witch called back, sniffing the samples of ginger root soap displayed on the side counter.

“All right, suit yourself,” and with a last kiss to Hecate’s cheek, Mildred was off, a streak of energy zipping out the door.

Hecate crossed over to the younger witch, who had now wandered towards the section of herbal remedies for common ailments and was carefully examining the vials there with the astute eye of a fellow potioneer. Hecate was uncertain as to what to make of her daughter’s chaperone but disposed towards hospitality for the safe delivery of her young charge.

“Miss Pinch, could I help you find anything?”

The woman looked up with a start. So fully engrossed had she been in the items before her, she had not noticed Hecate’s approach. Breaking into a friendly smile, the woman raised a hand in greeting.

“I’m off the clock. Lucy, please. I hope we haven’t put you off by barging in like this unannounced. Millie's been raving about this place for what seems like weeks, so I had to come see for myself.” Pointing at the array of glass bottles, she remarked, “This is an amazing collection you have here. Do you brew this all yourself?”

“Yes, on site,” Hecate replied.

“That’s impressive!” With a pleasant gasp, Lucy grabbed a squat bottle of cobalt blue, containing a thick liquid, off the counter. “Ooh, essence of whey!” she exclaimed. “Dooey lives on this. My familiar. He has chronic dyspepsia.” The eccentric witch acknowledged conspiratorially, “I know it's an off-label use, but it really does wonders.” Off-label indeed, Hecate thought. Essence of whey was most often used to alleviate unmitigated joint pain with little to no evidence suggesting its safety when imbibed by animals. And to test it on her own familiar, no less! “These tinctures are ridiculously difficult to calibrate, and sometimes I just don't have the time, you know? I guess now I know why Pippa was recruiting so widely.”

“Hmm?” Hecate hummed noncommittally. She had already lost the thread of the conversation, although she was not sure if that was more the result of her fatigue or the other woman’s topsy-turvy conversational style.

“You're a tough act to follow,” Lucy said matter-of-factly. Hecate had been skeptical when she had first heard of Pippa’s decision to select a relatively unknown potion maker from the Americas. Pippa had had so many brilliant minds to pick from, many of whom she had already been introduced to firsthand in Hecate’s university days, but Lucy Pinch had proven herself to be some sort of wunderkind with a cauldron. And it was clear that Pippa had discerned an untapped potential in the witch. Lucy admitted, “I've always been a big fan of your work.”

“Oh,” Hecate said politely. She had never quite gotten accustomed to having her accomplishments lauded in her presence, and their notice, even in passing, never failed to make her uncomfortable. “I haven’t published in quite some time,” she downplayed. 

“True,” Lucy agreed with an ambitious glint in her eye, “but if you ever wanted to collaborate....” Lucy let the invitation linger provocatively.

Hecate bit. There were aspects of her former life that she sometimes missed, and academic inquiry was certainly one of them. “On?”

Lucy released an amused laugh, “Anything. You're Hecate Hardbroom. You want to collaborate on anything, and I am there. No questions asked.”

With an arch of her eyebrow, Hecate considered, “Well, I did happen to read your recent article on ....”

As Lucy leaned in interestedly, her nearly full basket balanced on the counter beside her, the two potion makers batted ideas back-and-forth. Each witch contributed her own lens to the discussion. Lucy had an almost compulsive eye for pliable magical principles, whereas Hecate brought her near encyclopedic knowledge of all previously explored lines of study and the gaps that remained elusively beyond reach. An odd pair by any measure, the two witches whiled away an hour or two, scribbling half-baked hypotheses and pitching different ingredients into their boiling cauldrons to test various theories, Hecate’s list from the morning temporarily forgotten.

When a surprised Ada descended the stairs for her shift after a lengthy call with one of their suppliers, Hecate was a woman transformed, her earlier bleariness chased away by the thrall of intellectual discovery. Lucy, relieved of a sizable chunk of her weekly savings, departed soon after with reminders to follow-up with her about the calculations for the appropriate dose augmentation, but not before pulling free a large manila envelope bearing the Pentangle’s Academy crest.

Hecate had expected as much, but her hands still shook as she prised the envelope open. Nestled within was a formal receipt of enrollment for one Ethel Hardbroom and a complementary invitation to Selection Day. Atop the formal paperwork was stuck a pink post-it note that simply read in Pippa’s familiar hand:

_Thank you, Hiccup._

_\- Pipsqueak_

_p.s. If you ever want to visit Ethel at school, the guest room is always available to you._

Hecate stopped herself from reading more into the brief missive. It would not do to mistake Pippa’s hospitality for anything else, but the gesture boded well for their venture into co-parenting. Holding the letter in her hand, she felt her stomach begin to roil with anxious anticipation, but she forcefully pushed her feelings away. That would have to wait. She had been tasked with getting the girls’ supplies, and she did not plan to shirk her duties.

That evening, after a long day devoted to accompanying a glowing Ethel and an exuberant Mildred to multiple stores, purchasing everything from the essentials, such as broom kits and bed linens, to the more superfluous, minor furnishings to decorate their rooms, toys for their anticipated familiars, and the like, Hecate propped her feet on a plush ottoman. The scent of warm rose tea wafted up from the mug resting in her hand, and she reflected on her second foray from her cozy hamlet in so many weeks. Hecate mused, she was becoming quite the traveler. How unlike her, for whom home truly was so sweet.

Over the next week, Hecate found her life busier than usual. Not only was Mildred springing about the cottage and the Honeybee, the light-hearted brunette laughing and occasionally bickering with her more serious blond sister, her spirit a most welcome addition to the Hardbroom household, but she also received other visitors. Lucy, who seemed eager to make progress on their proposed article prior to the start of the school year, dropped by mid-week, and even Oliver, who arrived to scuttle Ethel and Mildred to the castle for their week with Pippa, stayed for a sip of tea.

Waving her girls goodbye, Hecate tipped open the Tupperware Oliver had left with her. The fruit and custard tarts were a poor consolation for a cottage all to her lonesome self but smelled delectable. Taking a bite of the flaky pastry, the tangy fruit and rich cream comingling to delight the senses, Hecate turned for a last glance at the three figures flying amid the fluffy white clouds, surprised to admit that she would gladly tolerate even Oliver’s tiresome company to be with them.

\-----------

Pippa gathered up her daughters in a tight hug. Spying three approaching figures from her window, she had dropped her stylus mid-sentence and practically sprinted through the castle, sliding around corridors, dashing down stairwells, and ignoring the damp of grass on her ankles to beat her daughters to the courtyard. One week had been an eternity. Without the bustling staff, the castle at night had felt enormous without her Mildred, the cozy library drafty, and all its rooms, however filtered with light illuminating vivid pictures on the walls, a mere simulacrum of life. While the days had brought her distraction in the form of company, her already well-laid plans for Selection Day significantly buoyed by the knowledge that she would be seeing both of her daughters walk the halls of Pentangle’s Academy as students this fall, there had also been other less pleasant conversations to attend.

That Monday, Mildred gladly sent off with Lucy to revel in Ethel’s enrollment, Pippa had sat down with another brunette. She had barely gotten two words in when Vic, her wise eyes kind and knowing, had cut her off. Her body open and accepting, the younger witch had spared her the need for regretful apologies and the shameful excuse of not knowing her own heart until she had already ensnared that of another, as if the accomplished woman before her had been but a stepping stone to someone else. Vic had been far more than that. A passionate and playful lover, a supportive and steadfast friend, she had infused her with a thrilling vitality that Pippa had neglected over the years, as she flitted from one insubstantial fling to another and settled into a role that had taken on a magnitude of its own. Vic had ignited within her a glimmer of her younger, more hopeful self, and for that, Pippa would be forever grateful.

Ever adaptable, three days later, the gala heralded a coup for the academy in the papers, donations collected and sorted, invoices paid, and donors graciously thanked, Vic had packed up her desk, her resignation reluctantly agreed to on both sides as unavoidable and necessary for a healthy break. Pippa had called in a favor from an old friend, and Vic found herself in the unpitiable state of fielding a new job offer. Heading to greener pastures, the publicist extraordinaire would be trotting the globe with none other than Maureen O’Hare, generating buzz for her various not-for-profit partnerships. On her end, Pippa had not had to do much convincing, Maureen having witnessed firsthand the younger witch’s acumen for the role, and Pippa thought the match a fitting one. Free-spirts both, Vic would thrive with the inevitable changes that were sure to follow in Maureen’s wake, and she expected the two women to get on exceedingly well.

Her summer with Vic had been one of pure joy, but all summers have their end. And Pippa found comfort in knowing that theirs had been bound for one as well. There had been a time when she had been content to careen around the world, immersed in gleeful unpredictability, but that season of her life was long over. Pippa had taken great pains to ground herself in a particular sense of place. Pentangle’s, her daughters, Ollie, Lucy, these were her roots, and she would not trade them for anything.

Pressing a quick kiss to blond and brunette heads in turn, Pippa drew her daughters under her arms to guide them inside. As she was caught up on their eventful week, she reached out a thankful hand to her dear friend, her fingers wriggling for contact. Without missing a beat, Ollie clasped her fingers in his steady grip, and Pippa felt herself release a breath, her nervous energy finally subsiding like bubbles in a glass of champagne.

The week went by in a blur. There were lazy dips in the pool, Pippa soaking in the last rays of the season on her inflatable lounge chair, while Mildred and Ethel splashed about, racing and holding their breaths and flipping into somersaults. Occasionally joining in herself, Pippa was crowned the current reigning champion of underwater handstands with her two daughters eager to dethrone her at every opportunity. In these silly contests, she could recognize in Ethel a competitive edge, a hunger to prove herself. It was one, when tempered with loving security, that had served her well over the years, and it made her smile to see a piece of herself in the young girl. Mildred had rarely cared for excellence, her squishy heart leaning more toward the fostering of others, a quality that Pippa prized no less, and one that, despite her prickly exterior, always reminded the blonde of Hecate. Perfection had been drilled into the older brunette by a combination of nature and nurture, the result of exacting demands and a raw magical potential, but caregiving, Pippa thought that all Hecate.

Savoring the sticky, sultry days, Pippa and Mildred cajoled Ethel to join them at the stables, where they introduced her to Glindy, a young mare of her very own. Ethel seemed reluctant but eager to please at first, sitting awkwardly in the saddle and eliciting a similar stiffness in the horse’s gait, but after some helpful tips for the second-time rider from an invested Mildred, admirably balancing a wish to share this with her sister and the impulse to ditch them both to really let Sprout loose, Pippa noticed her blond daughter adjusting to the young horse’s heft and height. Releasing Mildred to gallop along some nearby trails, Pippa ambled by Ethel’s side, providing encouragement to rider and ridee alike, and by the time they were circling back towards the stables, she could see Ethel patting the sleek coat of the chocolatey mare and whispering in its ear as she brushed her down, Glindy nickering contentedly as she nuzzled against the girl’s cheek. 

A persistent shower led them indoors for a day at the children’s museum, a destination that garnered quick favor from both girls, as they clambered around the floating metal jungle gym and sprayed each other with colorful tufts of magic. Amid a rainbow of splattered hues, Mildred and Ethel each sported a bold slash of bright pink across one side, and a spotless Pippa beamed as she captured the moment on her maglet.

With the school year around the corner, Pippa could not help but spoil her daughters with a few new outfits, so a trip to London was squeezed in, including a short hop to visit some of the Ordinary neighborhoods in the city. Ethel had rarely traveled to London and been exposed to Ordinary life even less. Her blond daughter marveled at the complex systems designed by Ordinary folk to transport from one place to another. Four-wheeled contraptions hurdling by, tri-colored lights demanding absolute obedience, plumes of billowing smoke, giant metal wings soaring through the air, and the sheer cacophony of noise: the screeching of iron against iron, honking horns, and the constant whoosh of vehicles passing by. Ethel took in the intricacies of governance and the pomp and circumstance of the monarchy, her shining eyes enamored by the novelty of it all. They strolled through winding parks, Ethel often burrowed into Pippa’s shoulder, while Mildred strode ahead to lead the way. They indulged in an obscene amount of gelato, an absolute must in Pippa’s opinion, and later that night, their messy, sugar-splotched faces peered out at her from the glowing screen of her maglet. Her cheeks sore from perpetual smiles, the day had been perfect, well, nearly perfect, she admitted, save the absence of one Hiccup, and she hesitated for but a moment before attaching the files to a new message.

_From Ethel and Mildred_ , her fingers dutifully typed out. _We missed you._

With a wave, she erased the perfunctory message to be replaced by a more honest:

_I wish you were here, Hiccup._

The cursor blinked at her expectantly, and Pippa wavered. Last time, she had pushed too hard, too fast, and Hecate had slipped away. They were finding a delicate balance, and she feared upsetting it with the strength of her wants, demands that were more than the brunette was willing to give. But the silence too unnerved her, the chasm of eight years still fresh in her mind. 

In the end, she left the message blank, hoping the pictures could convey the words that eluded her, how she yearned to share these moments with Hecate. Sending the photos with a decisive tap, she resolved to wait. It would only be a few more days until she saw Hecate again.

\-----------

Too soon, the week was over, and Pippa was loathed to let her daughters go, especially to the cheerful witch standing before her. A woman from another life. A slight undercurrent of snippiness could be heard in Pippa’s tone, and disappointment churned in her stomach as she raised her hand in greeting.

“Well met, Ada.”

Ada returned with a friendly smile, “Well met, Pippa.”

Throughout the last week, she had heard Ada this and Ada that dotted throughout so many of Ethel’s stories, the woman an undeniably prominent figure in her young daughter’s life. But hearing the woman’s name was different than seeing the witch in person, and Pippa’s body instinctively reared in betrayal and anger. Flashes of the custody hearing, the stuff of her nightmares, shocked through her system. Her desperate cries falling on deaf ears echoed in her mind as Ada dropped the gavel on her marriage. Pippa had pleaded with her, certain that Ada could talk some sense into Hecate when the brunette had closed herself off to Pippa’s attempts at reason, but there had been no compromise in the woman’s eyes, no offer to intercede on her behalf. The doors Hecate had closed out of whatever sense of hurt and fear, Ada had locked, and the woman’s smiling face sparked Pippa’s fury.

Pippa’s side felt cold as she watched her daughter leaning easily into the other witch’s ready embrace. Where a part of her supposed she should be grateful at how well the woman had tended to her daughter, she felt flaring resentment instead, her motherhood usurped by a woman she had counted amongst her closest friends.

With a confused cock of her head, Ethel asked, “Ada, where’s mother?”

“Unfortunately, she had an important order to complete today, but she should be all done by the time we arrive.” Ada spoke with an air of sincere apology, but Pippa heard the crushing truth between the softened justifications. Hecate was avoiding her.

She could hear Ada calling over her Mildred, scrolling through her maglet to show her daughter what looked to be a framed painting of mountain avens hanging on an otherwise austere wall, the initials M.P. neatly printed in ink in the bottom righthand corner, and she could see Mildred’s face light up at the prospect of painting another for the shop. Hecate’s presence infused their every interaction, yet the brunette’s pointed absence loomed large in Pippa’s mind, crowding out all other conversation.

“Would I?” Mildred’s excited voice broke through. “I’ll work on it this week! Oh, but I need to grab my paints. Be right back!” Her daughter set off at a sprint towards the castle when Pippa saw Mildred stop short a few meters away with an expectant look back at her sister.

Rolling her eyes, Ethel muttered with a grumble, “I guess I’ll help,” as she jogged to catch up, the two girls talking and squabbling the entire way.

As the two older witches waited for the girls to return, Pippa braced herself for an inevitably uncomfortable conversation. To no one’s surprise, a second later, Ada pinned her with a patented look, one Pippa had once jokingly described as compassion encased in steel. She tightened defensively, quite sure she would dislike the woman’s next words. Ada did not disappoint.

“Pippa Pentangle, what are you planning to do about this?”

Indignant, Pippa expected her anger to pour forth, but it was the prick of wrenching tears that fought to the surface instead. Overwhelmed by a rushing cascade of sadness, Pippa struggled to hold back tears. What was she going to do? Ada spoke to her as if she had been given a choice in the matter, as if she had any choices now. She felt defeated, depleted, flickers of hope inspired by the complicated events of the past two weeks brutally snuffed out with the gust of Ada’s arrival.

“What am I supposed to do, Ada?” she asked almost rhetorically, a heaviness in her voice.

“You’re a bright witch, Pippa, and you know her better than anyone.”

The comment, perhaps meant in kindness, seemed more mocking than anything else. Pippa may have once believed that to be true, but the relentless waters of time had chipped away at the lie. Where Hecate had invited Ada into her solitude, she had excised Pippa with the clinical exactitude of a surgeon. Where Ada had been essential, Pippa had been deemed expendable, and whatever the other woman’s intent, the woman’s very presence seemed but a harbinger of bad news.

“Not anymore,” Pippa said dejectedly, her eyes downcast. Hecate’s disapprobation had always lain most powerfully in the stark crevices of negative space, her voice loudest in silence, her gaze most damning in its absence, and Pippa felt a creeping helplessness chill her bones.

Ada countered calmly, “Even now.” The definitive tone startled Pippa, bold in its knowledge of Hecate and seemingly just as bold in marking its limits.

Turning away from the older witch, Pippa spoke more quietly, “She left me, Ada. Both times, she left me.” Though it pained her to say it, Pippa refused to seek comfort in self-deception. She had pursued Hecate. At every juncture of their relationship, she had sought the brunette, from their early flirtation to the promise of commitment to supplicating requests for forgiveness and even their tentative reconciliation. She did not know how much more rejection her tattered heart could bear. A cynical part of her wondered if she and Hecate had been doomed from the start, and it had only been her optimistic persistence that had allowed it to progress as far as it had. 

“You may be right,” Ada allowed, and for a moment, Pippa struggled with a flicker of contrarian defiance, resisting agreement of any kind with the other witch. “But I suspect Hecate may not see it that way. She’s been wearing that ring around her neck every day for the last eight years, and as far as she knows, you’re still engaged to another woman.” Ada gave her a shrewd look as Pippa fidgeted with the fourth finger of her left hand, newly freed of its golden bind. “You know as well as me that Hecate would be the first to sacrifice herself on some misguided altar of honor if she thought it would secure your happiness.” At Pippa’s silence, the other woman seemed to lose her patience. It seemed her endless fount of patience for Hecate’s doubts did not extend to Pippa’s self-pity. She said exasperatedly, “She loves you, Pippa. That much is obvious.”

Pippa almost laughed with helpless abandon at the woman’s put-upon naiveté. “Not loving one another was never the problem.”

“No, I suppose not. But helping her believe it might be a good place to start.”

“What if I’m,” Pippa asked tremulously. Regrouping, she said, “What if it’s not enough?”

Ada refastened her traveling cloak and smiled fondly at the sight of Mildred and Ethel running their way. “What if it is?”

\-----------

The next morning, Pippa found a large manila envelope waiting on her desk. Scanning its contents, she dropped into her chair and slowly read through the relevant portions twice before clearing her schedule for the day. Producing her hat and broom with a snap of her fingers, she hurriedly sped out the window.

Hours later, Pippa found herself soaring over a little hamlet she had never set foot in before. Vanishing her broom, she pushed open the door of a well-tended apothecary as a bell jingled overhead. Warm wooden shelves neatly filled with meticulous rows of colorful glass vials lined the walls. She could feel the familiar call of Hecate’s magic woven throughout the shop and had to catch herself from stumbling at the intoxicating pull of it. Behind the counter, an attentive Ada subtly nodded her head towards a doorway in the back of the large storeroom, and everything else seemed to fade away. She quickly traversed the length of the room, and inside what looked to be a laboratory and an office, she saw Hecate sitting behind a sturdy desk, poring over a thick leather ledger.

Pippa gently rapped against the door frame and watched as Hecate started, rising unsteadily to her feet at the sight of the blonde standing in the Honeybee.

Pippa asked softly, “Can I come in?” Hecate nodded wordlessly.

Conjuring the manila envelope in explanation, Pippa crossed the space, her gaze fixed on the nervous brunette, as she closed the distance between them until only the width of the black desk separated them. Steadying herself against its solid frame, she opened the envelope with fumbling fingers and carefully slid out several pieces of parchment, placing the signed joint custody agreement on the table for Hecate’s review. Ironclad, her lawyer had said when she had arrived in a disheveled flurry that morning. Hecate had accounted for every eventuality, ensuring her equal rights as Ethel’s mother in the sight of the Code, and even now, hours later, with Hecate standing in front of her, Pippa was still speechless. There were not words enough to express how she felt in this moment, the relief, the recognition, the pride, the trust that rushed through her. She waited for the other woman to move, but the brunette seemed just as overcome as Pippa.

“Thank you,” Pippa finally breathed, tears glistening in her eyes.

At that, Hecate seemed to find her voice. Swallowing hard, she stammered, “I-I should never have separated you in the first place. I wanted you to know that I… that I would never take her away again. I didn’t want you to have to take my word for it, so …. I’m so sorry, Pippa. I never meant to hurt you the way I did, and I understand if you aren’t able to forgive me.” Hecate stared at her hands in self-condemnation, and Pippa could practically hear the castigating thoughts swirling around the brunette’s mind. Her suspicions were confirmed when Hecate intoned, “I deserve much less.”

“Please stop doing that,” Pippa implored. “Please stop blaming yourself.”

“It was my fault,” Hecate claimed wholeheartedly. There was a ferocity in her determination to accept responsibility for her actions, and Pippa felt her heart ache for this warrior woman, who loved so profoundly everyone but herself.

“There’s fault enough to share,” Pippa rebutted. “Hiccup, I don't want to be angry with you anymore. Or sad at you. I just want to be a family again.”

“I want that too.”

Pippa brushed away at the few tears that had fallen during her short visit to the Honeybee. “I know that this is your week, so I’ll get out of your hair. I just … I just wanted to thank you in person.”

As Pippa spoke, Hecate took up the papers, flipping through to confirm that all the i’s had been dotted and t’s crossed when she reached the addendum Pippa had included with her response. The brunette let out a gasp, her hand clutching at her chest.

Pippa clarified, “I had my lawyer draw up some papers for Mildred too. I don’t want to pressure you, but I wanted you to have the option, in case you ever changed your mind.” When the other woman was quiet, she reassured, “Hecate, you can take as much time as you need, and whatever you decide, she’ll always be our daughter, yours and mine.”

Pippa turned to leave, her heart ballooning with happiness and content to give Hecate time and space to make her decision, when the brunette tentatively called out.

“Pippa, would you like to join us for dinner?”

Spinning on her heel, Pippa beamed as she eagerly accepted, “I would love to.”


	20. Chapter 20

Pippa took in every detail of Hecate and Ethel’s cottage home. She had felt the powerful enchantment wash over her as she had stepped onto the driveway, and Pippa wondered at the measures Hecate had taken to secure a sense of safety, remembering how Hecate had cast spell after spell around their flat when the girls had been born until Pippa had confiscated her notes and forced her to take a breath, curling up together on the couch to breathe in unison.

The cozy cottage reminded Pippa of the scenes Hecate had painted when they were both still struggling doctoral students, balancing their own research with heavy teaching loads and pinching every penny. Hecate had idealized the freedom and peace of a secluded cottage sitting at the edge of an expansive forest, imagining herself with an unobstructed view of the trees from the comfort of her living room. Functionality had clearly guided the chosen décor, yet there was a hominess that suffused the space. Honey brown alder and the distinctive wood grain patterns of oak and walnut lent the living room a natural beauty that softened its edges. The smiling faces of Ethel and Hecate shone out at her from framed pictures lining the walls, and as Pippa trailed after the brunette in a short tour of the house and garden, accompanied by a wary Morgana, who kept turning her head to check on her as if expecting Pippa to disappear at any moment, she felt certain that the two had been very happy here.

“You have a beautiful home, Hecate.”

“Thank you.” The brunette gave the smallest of smiles. “I designed parts of it myself.”

While Hecate said no more, Pippa could see the woman stand taller with pride, and the cohesiveness of the décor suddenly made much more sense, Hecate’s aesthetic touch permeating every surface. “I could tell,” Pippa said with a tentative smile of her own.

Although Hecate had extended the invitation, the brunette appeared almost as surprised as Pippa felt to see her in her home. Watching Hecate hastily fashion an extra chair for the table and rapidly duplicate plates and utensils, Pippa doubted whether the kitchen had ever held so many occupants at one time. Thankfully, Mildred and Ethel helped to fill what could have been awkward silences, providing updates on the summer goings on of their friends and their jaunt through town earlier that day as Ethel introduced Mildred to the town at large and Mildred searched for artistic inspiration. Hecate nonetheless seemed a bit frayed throughout her visit. She would pop up at intervals to offer seconds and refill cups. She hovered in the doorway when Pippa and their girls had moved to the couches in the living room, and when Pippa casually mentioned her split from Vic, Hecate’s hand momentarily froze midair above the sugar bowl. While Hecate recovered quickly, the brunette adeptly schooling her face into a neutral expression as she offered her sympathies, Mildred was far less restrained. Her mumbled “thank the goddess” was hard to not hear in their party of four, and the cheeks of Ethel’s carefully downturned face dimpled with delight, her former fiancée evidently little missed by either of her young daughters.

Soon, the evening was coming to a close, and Pippa was hugging her girls as they wrapped themselves tightly around her middle before retiring upstairs to get ready for bed. Hecate walked her the short distance to the front hall, and Pippa confirmed that she would pick up the girls at the end of the week.

“Her and her weeks,” Hecate observed with a wry smile. “It’s what Mildred calls our arrangement when she thinks I can’t hear her.” Pippa smiled. Mildred would learn one way or another that her other mother had the ears of a bat. Very few things escaped Hecate Hardbroom’s notice. Opening the door, the brunette paused as Pippa perched on her broom. “I imagine you must be busy with preparations for Selection Day, but if you’re ever free, we’d love to have you over anytime.”

The open invitation sent a thrill up Pippa’s spine and her heart aflutter the whole ride home.

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To Hecate’s surprise, Pippa began to show up at the cottage every day. The first time, Hecate had been able to easily write off the blonde’s presence as due to sheer politeness. After eight years of estrangement, it would have been almost rude to not return. However, by the third day, a damp Pippa on her doorstep as a torrent of rain poured down behind her, Hecate had run out of excuses. The blonde was a sodden mess, and as Hecate reflexively cast a drying spell over witch and broom, a stern scolding on her tongue, a sheepish Pippa mumbled, “I might have underestimated the storm clouds.”

“What about a protection spell?” Hecate’s restraint not enough to bite her tongue at the woman’s recklessness.

Pippa shrugged almost shyly, “I was already in the air and didn’t want to risk being late for dinner.”

Hecate was enamored.

Half an hour later, the blonde was sitting at her kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea between her hands, bundled up in thick woolen socks and a warm winter cardigan, recently charmed to block out the cold, from Hecate’s closet. With Selection Day around the corner, Pippa’s health was paramount, Hecate had argued, never mind the small voice that noted how illness could get in the way of any long-distance travel.

Family dinners were supplemented with game nights. Pippa and Ethel had mercilessly clobbered Hecate and Mildred in round after round of Code Names.

As the blondes tittered in the background, a baffled Hecate had stared at the grid of nonsensical picture tablets, still trying to make sense of her daughter’s illogical clues. “Reflection 2? How is a unicorn wearing spectacles more reflective than a wishing well? And a primitive bear trap? How is that reflective at all?”

“Mother, you have to stop being so literal. There’s a reflection right there,” Mildred pointed.

“That dash of white in the corner? It’s a drawing!”

“The artist’s intent was clearly demonstrating the interplay of shadow and light. See? That grayed section is the shadow, and the white is the light,” Mildred explained.

Ethel and Pippa shared a sly glance, apparently agreeing to allow the two stubborn brunettes to hash it out on their own, confident in their own superior game play and celebrating their decisive victory with a plateful of butter cookies.

Pictionary provided an opportunity for sweet vindication as Mildred and Hecate’s near clinical representations of common objects left little room for Pippa’s abstract interpretations of a “garden hose” or a “pinecone.” Pippa emphatically gesticulated, using her black marker with great gusto, “This is clearly a pine tree – look at its needles – and an ice cream cone.” Hecate had to suppress a smirk as Ethel meekly replied, “Oh …. Mum, I thought you were trying to draw a person again but like, a really hairy one,” Pippa’s exaggerated look of offense priceless.

Over the course of the week, Hecate found that she had almost come to expect Pippa’s daily visits as she forlornly nursed a single glass of wine. An empty plate sat by Pippa’s usual seat, untouched. Madam Vespertilio’s voice crooned out from the victrola, and the quiet was interrupted by only the occasional burst of laughter from her girls upstairs mirroring with some friends from camp. It was silly really for her to expect Pippa to make the trip every day. She was the headmistress of one of England’s most prominent witching academies with the start of the school year only a few short weeks away, and the flight alone would exhaust many a lesser witch. Hecate poured herself another generous glass of wine. With her girls occupied, she could afford to indulge just this once.

As she savored the cherry undertones of the cabernet sauvignon, there was a soft knock at the door, and Hecate bounded towards the door with the spryness of a lovesick teenage girl.

There stood the blonde, looking wearier than Hecate had ever seen her. “Am I too late for dinner?”

Pippa could never be too late. From Pippa’s hopeful look, Hecate half-wondered if she had blurted the sentiment out loud, the two glasses of wine adding a fuzziness to her usually sharp mind. 

Blushing furiously, Hecate quickly vanished Pippa’s hat and broom and ushered the blonde into the warm kitchen, plating her a large helping of the brisket, roasted vegetables, and sweet potato mash she had prepared for dinner and pulling out a second glass to join her own. For once, the two women sat in silent companionship. With no Ethel or Mildred to guide their conversations, Hecate found herself navigating the waters alone, hesitantly venturing to ask about the other woman’s harried day, and Pippa relievedly sharing about the staff’s frenetic efforts to revise some of the exam questions for Selection Day in response to a last-minute notice from the Magic Council.

Deeming Pippa in no condition to fly, Hecate had insisted on her staying the night. Pippa declined with wide eyes, but the relief in her shoulders when Hecate prevailed assured her she had been right to push. Offering up her own bed, Hecate laid out some fluffy pajamas.

“You kept these?” Pippa had asked with a sleepy yawn, recognizing the set she had gifted the brunette years ago.

Mumbling something noncommittal in response, Hecate guided the other woman to the bathroom, and while Pippa showered, she set up a comfortable cot for herself in the living room. Settling in for a good night’s rest, she closed her eyes, fully prepared for sleep to arrive, but throughout the night, her thoughts kept returning to the blonde. The truth was she had kept everything. Bundled away in the bottom of her closet and the corners of the attic were all her remnants of the blonde, out of sight as close as Hecate could get to out of mind when she had tried to banish Pippa from her life. And that night, her dreams were filled of the blonde. Pippa sheepishly shrugging over a skillet of burnt eggs. Pippa’s fingers running through her hair, Pippa curled into her side, Pippa surprising her with coffee during late nights at the lab, Pippa telling her she loved her. Pippa, Pippa, Pippa.

The next morning, Hecate woke to the sweet smell of blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes, sizzling bacon, and poached eggs, Pippa having apparently learned some culinary techniques in their time apart, and Hecate spent the day shaking away images of the blonde, still clad in her fluffy pajamas and waving a spatula in one hand as she smiled out at her from behind those tantalizing glasses. The quick peck on the cheek, the casual “goodbye, darling,” echoing in her mind. Hecate tried not to read too much into the careless epithet. Pippa had always been an affectionate witch, and the endearment likely meant little else, a spill-over from her hugs with their daughters.

Competitive game nights were alternated with lazy movie nights. Ethel and Mildred were sprawled on the floor, while Hecate and Pippa sat on the couch. A tired Pippa had dozed off halfway through, and Hecate found the weight of Pippa’s sleep-tousled head resting against her shoulder incredibly distracting, the puff of deep breaths, the steady rise and fall of Pippa’s chest. Pippa was beautiful in repose, and at that thought, Hecate knew she was dangerously close to falling into old patterns.

As the credits rolled and Pippa awoke with a soft hum, Hecate took the opportunity to escape to the kitchen. Her whole body vibrated with yearning, and it all felt like too much, an onslaught of her senses to have Pippa so near. Hecate gripped the steel edges of her sink, the metal cool against her skin, and opening the tap, Hecate plunged her hands into the cold water, attacking the soaking pile of dishes with fervor. It was an idiosyncrasy considered confounding by many, washing the dishes often seen as an Ordinary inconvenience. With a simple snap, the whole ordeal could be avoided, bits of food magicked away and sparkling dishes sent back to their rightful places, but occasionally, Hecate opted for a more manual approach. She found something soothing in the tactile process, the roughness of the bristles against her fingers, the light effervescence of soapy suds, the isolated submersion in water all around her, churning, smoothing, cleansing.

Hecate heard the tap of quiet footsteps and did not need to turn around to know Pippa had found her. The blonde wordlessly took up her place next to her, reaching for a recently scrubbed plate, and the two witches fell into a familiar routine of Hecate washing and Pippa drying beside her in solidarity. Hecate felt comforted by the gesture. It had once been Pippa’s way of letting her know that she was there.  
  
When the last dish was put away, the blond witch set about boiling water for some tea. Having learned the layout of the kitchen in recent days, she pulled a teacup from the cupboard with ease before leaning her back against the counter to turn to Hecate, concern in her eyes.  
  
She broached gently, "Hiccup, I know you're upset. Won't you tell me what's troubling you, darling?"  
  
Hecate felt her chest tighten at how easily Pippa could read her. Instead of answering the question, she responded with one of her own. "It's late. Do you need to be getting back? I expect your staff have been wondering where you've been disappearing off to this week."  
  
The blonde stared at her, as if surprised. "My staff know I'm with my family and that they can reach me here if anything comes up after hours.” Pippa said plainly, “Hiccup, I'm exactly where I want to be. Here with our girls. Here with you." Ruffling her hair, the blonde let out a frustrated sigh that seemed to be directed more towards herself than anyone else. "I thought I had been so transparent, but I should know by now never to presume." The blonde momentarily avoided her gaze before turning back to her, a new vulnerability in her eyes. Gathering up her courage, Pippa confessed, “I’m in love with you, Hecate.”

Hecate felt her entire body freeze on the spot, words like “family” and “in love” thrumming loudly in her ears.

“Don’t you see how much I love you? I feel like it pours out of my very being, on display for the whole world to see, except you. I’m in love with you, Hecate. Whatever else you may have thought, I’ve only ever truly been in love with one woman in my life, and if given the choice.” Pippa stuttered. “If given the choice, I would choose to spend every day of my life with you. I want this,” Pippa declared, her hands sweeping broadly towards the cottage, their girls in the next room. More quietly, she said, “I want you, Hiccup.”

Hecate stood in stunned silence.

Pippa’s beseeching eyes seemed to relent with understanding tinged with sadness. Hecate’s heart ached at those shimmering brown eyes, but her words seemed to fail her.

Pippa said softly, “I understand if you need more time, but if you want that too.” Her voice trembled, “if you want me, you know where to find me.” After a few moments of heavy silence, Pippa said reluctantly, “I should be going.”

Hecate’s strangled throat lurched at the thought of the blonde leaving. “What about the tea?” she finally blurted out.

Pippa gave a small smile. “I made it for you.” As she headed for the door to say goodbye to their girls, she confirmed, a hint of uncertainty in her tone, “I’ll see you in two days? At Selection Day?”

“Of course,” Hecate choked out breathlessly.

“Good night, darling.”

With a wave, Pippa was gone, and Hecate was left alone in the kitchen, her mind whirring with thoughts and the room seeming so much awfully colder than before.

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Bright and early the next morning, Pippa was settling down to her desk, a mug of coffee in her hand and a long list of items to attend to when she heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she yawned absentmindedly. The long flight to Pentangle’s had done little to assuage her nerves, the doubts of too much, too fast running through her mind.

The door flew open, and to Pippa’s shock, there stood Hecate, flustered and wind-kissed, in her black traveling cloak. Her wild brunette locks were spilling out of their clasps, her hat clutched in a knuckled hand, and she looked absolutely breathtaking.

Big brown eyes met hers with a tender clarity. “I don’t need any more time,” the brunette announced without preamble, and striding across the room, she scooped Pippa up in her arms, her lips crushing against Pippa’s with blistering desire. “I don’t need any more time,” she whispered once more against Pippa’s ear, as if she knew Pippa needed to hear the words again. Hecate pressed their bodies flush together, as if unwilling to bear any further distance between them, and Pippa could feel the pulsing beat of her heart as she said, “I want you too, Pipsqueak.”

Pippa felt herself sink into the woman’s touch when she had the forethought to ask, “Who’s watching the girls?”

Pippa felt more than heard the slight chagrin in Hecate’s shrug as she replied, “Oliver.” Pippa could not help but smile at the reluctant admission. “I thought the girls would enjoy a day with their godfather, and I had something to do that couldn’t be put off any longer.”

Warmed by the thought that Mildred, Ethel, and Ollie would happily while away the day, Pippa did not need to hear anything more, and with a twist of her wrist, swirls of pink appeared around them, encasing the two witches in a puff of smoke. She was not ready to share Hecate quite yet.

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As tendrils of pink caressed her, Hecate almost cried. It had been years since she had felt the touch of Pippa’s magic, the familiar scent, the tenderness, the love. They said all magic had an imprint. It was an intimate exchange of energy with a signature wholly unique to the wielder that shifted and flowed in response to its recipient. To Hecate, Pippa’s magic had always tasted of safety, and she had to brush away tears as she was transported to the blonde’s private rooms.

As her feet hit solid ground, Hecate surged forward, guiding the blonde towards the bedroom. She wanted to explore every part of Pippa’s body, the flutter of her lashes, the delicate curve of her collarbone, her firm breasts. Toned arms, playful fingers, the smooth planes of her stomach, and the silky strength of her calves, they were all hallowed ground for Hecate’s exploration and discovery. She nipped at the pulse points of Pippa’s neck as she confessed her love and licked at sensitive nipples keening for her attention as she murmured how much she had missed her. She kissed the spattering of beauty marks across the blonde’s back, salt from sweat and tears comingling on her lips, and teasingly stroked Pippa’s deepest folds. She found the blonde slick with pooling desire to allow her easy entrance, her tongue savoring the taste of her wife and her fingers curling against clenching walls. With tender caresses, she revered them all, lavishing each freckle, each new line and curve, wrinkle and scar, with adoration as she elicited shivers and moans of pleasure from the writhing blonde beneath her. 

Legs entangled with her own, gripped around her waist with unrestrained desire. Feeling Pippa above her, around her, inside her, Hecate let out a desperate cry of heady release.

It felt like coming home.

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The bold rays of the afternoon sun spilled into her bedroom as Pippa laid against her pillow and watched Hecate sleep. There was a peacefulness to her wife’s countenance that Pippa did not take for granted, and she was in no hurry to disturb her. If anything, she wished she could stay sleeping beside her. The brunette had thoroughly exhausted her body. Her limbs felt boneless and her muscles delightfully sore. No matter her many exploits, no one had ever loved her as well as her Hiccup, neither before nor since, and Pippa allowed herself the luxury of this quiet moment to admire her wife. The woman’s beauty, her strength, her brilliance and fortitude, mesmerized Pippa, and she was utterly content to lie beside this remarkable woman, simply breathing her in for just a few minutes more.

But her long list of tasks soon called, and despite how much she longed to stay curled up in her apartment with Hecate, they needed to be done. Showered and refreshed, Pippa leaned over the dozing brunette to place a gentle kiss on her forehead before she headed out the door when Hecate began to stir. Deep brown eyes opened, and the woman let out a satisfied yawn, stretching out her long arms and smooth back with the litheness of a cat, as she took in Pippa’s dress.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Holding up her list, Pippa said ruefully, “I’m afraid I’ve already neglected my duties for far too long today, and if I don’t get these tasks done, Selection Day will be quite the disaster.” A part of Pippa tensed reflexively, anticipating Hecate’s disappointment.

To her surprise, Hecate adorably quirked her head and asked, “Do you mind if I join you?”

As Pippa bafflingly shook her head, the brunette draped her legs off the side of the bed, indulging in one final tantalizing stretch, and after a quick shower spell, the two witches were out the door.

Hand in hand, they walked the length of the bustling castle. Staff zipped about readying the school for the influx of prospective students and families the next day, but it seemed no one was too busy to spare a few moments for the headmistress. Pippa cordially introduced the other woman to everyone that crossed their path, but the truth was, Hecate needed no introduction. Pippa had made no secret of her whereabouts the previous week, and as the best stories often do, news of her reconciliation with Mildred’s other mother had traveled through corridors and gardens, the staff room and kitchens, in hushed whispers and happy well wishes for their beloved headmistress and their favorite scampering niece, whom they had all had a hand in raising over the years.

“Hecate Hardbroom, I was wondering when we’d finally get the chance to meet you.”

“Please visit us again soon!”

“I’ve never seen Pippa smile quite so much as she has this past week!”

“Millie has been bouncing off the walls and talks about nothing else. Every other word out of her mouth is mother this, Ethel that, and ‘at the Honeybee.’”

The pair was met with glad smiles, hearty handshakes, and even a few overzealous hugs all around, and Pippa watched with amusement as Hecate’s eyebrows practically crawled up her forehead and made nest in her hairline at the enthusiastic reception. Squeezing her hand reassuringly, Pippa swiftly guided the brunette away to tackle some of the more solitary tasks on her long to do list. She did not want to bombard the woman with too many new faces at once. With Hecate’s accompanying stream of magic, what may have taken Pippa an entire day to complete on her own was quickly expedited, and the two witches soon made short shrift of Pippa’s many allotted tasks.

When Pippa was inevitably pulled away to oversee some question about the lawn, Hecate gave her a small nod in response, waving away her look of concern as she continued arranging the great hall for the upcoming written exams. Table legs danced through the air, and piles of sharpened quills and stacks of fresh parchment shimmered with enchantments to discourage wandering eyes.

By the time Pippa managed to return to the great hall, having hurried through her decisions in her anxiousness to get back, the pristine room was empty. Neat rows of individual desks, organized into perfect right angles, filled the space, and worry gnawed at her stomach. Her inquiries were met with conflicting accounts. It seemed Hecate had been everywhere, helping here and there all but a few moments ago until someone else in need of an extra pair of hands had called for her attention. Pippa’s nerves were tying into elaborate, ever-growing knots, as she sought after her missing wife until finally, her sports mistress informed her with a grin that she had just seen an impatient Lucy tugging the brunette in the direction of the potions lab.

And that was how Pippa found Hecate, comfortably perched on a tall stool, her eyes alight with excitement, as she inspected the contents of a bubbling cauldron, Lucy scribbling down observations beside her. It eased Pippa’s heart to see Hecate getting on so well with Lucy. There was a lightness to Hecate here, in the castle surrounded by Pentangle’s staff, that Pippa had never seen before. Gone was the stiffness from her first visit. There remained no trace of the guardedness from the gala, neither the thinly veiled contempt from her exchange with Ursula nor the exhilarated triumph afterwards. Here, Hecate was simply herself, universally accepted by the staff without question and eager to contribute her prodigious talents wherever they were needed. Pippa was debating whether to interrupt the two potion makers when Hecate spied her in the doorway and beckoned her in with a broad smile.

Evening was fast approaching, the sun hanging low in the sky, when it was finally time for Hecate to leave. With a lingering kiss, Pippa saw the woman off, Hecate’s loose brown hair blowing behind her in the gentle breeze. They had agreed that it would be best to relieve Ollie of their daughters and for Hecate to fly back with Ethel and Mildred in the morning. The girls would need a good night’s rest, and Pippa suspected that Hecate would too after such an extraverted day.

The next morning, Pippa vigilantly scanned the sky and surveyed the families landing on the expansive lawn of Pentangle’s Academy in search of three particular faces. She loved Selection Day. There was such an air of anticipation, the thrill of a new year beginning and pliable minds to nurture and cultivate to their fullest potential. Some parents knelt to give their young daughters last-minute reassurances, while other families huddled anxiously together in nervous expectation. One young girl, her brown hair tied into an intricate French braid, was waving an enthusiastic goodbye to her departing parents, and a few paces away, another shakily disembarked her broom, worriedly pushing round black glasses up the bridge of her nose. There were Narcissus and Nathaniel, trailed by a sparkling spray of magic and peppering their daughter Enid with kisses. Pippa bemusedly watched as an embarrassed Enid squirmed free and ran over to the new arrival, tucking her into a tight hug before giving her the shock of her life as she was dragged over to meet the famous duo.

In the distance, Pippa spotted an immaculately dressed Ethel, her blond ponytail whipping in the wind, accompanied by Ada in her distinctive pink sweater. Rapidly scanning nearby, she looked for a glimpse of her two favorite brunettes but could find them nowhere. Mere minutes later, Ethel was jumping off her broom and dashing across the lawn as Pippa eagerly met her daughter halfway.

“Ethel, sweetheart! I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you. How are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” Ethel admitted.

“There’s absolutely nothing to be worried about. Sweetheart, this is your home, and no silly Selection Day results could ever change that.” Pippa wrapped her trembling daughter up in a steady embrace before adding more playfully, “But I do have it on good authority that Pentangle’s Academy is already very impressed with you, Ethel Hardbroom.”

As her daughter relaxed into her arms, Pippa gave another cursory glance, “Where are your mother and Millie?”

Ethel rolled her eyes. “Millie couldn’t find her socks this morning, so she and mother are a few minutes behind us.”

At that, Ada chimed in, “Yes, and our little Miss Hardbroom here didn’t want to be late.” Ethel bit her lip sheepishly, her ponytail bouncing with equal parts anxiety and excitement. “Well met, Pippa.”

“Well met, Ada.”

“And, Ethel, if I'm not mistaken, it looks like someone’s trying to get your attention,” Ada noted with a smile. Pippa followed the tilt of Ada’s head to a small group of young girls, Enid eagerly gesturing her daughter over.

Pippa encouraged, “I have to make my opening remarks soon anyway. Why don’t you join your friends? And I’ll see you in the great hall, sweetheart.” With a kiss and a hug, Ethel was bounding away, and Pippa watched as a rosy-cheeked girl threw her arms around her blond daughter and the girl with the French braid immediately engaged her in conversation. The chatty girl snuck starstruck glances in Pippa’s direction and blushed more than once when she found herself caught out.

“They’ll be here any minute,” Ada reassured her again, and Pippa realized she had been unconsciously wringing her hands. Releasing a chuckle at her baseless worries, Pippa gave the other woman a sidelong glance.

“Thank you for staying by her side.” The words felt hard to say, resentment and guilt sticking the words in her throat, but she meant them and did not want to dwell in rancor any longer. She had her daughter. Hecate had come back to her, and she knew Ada had probably played no small part in both.

With a gentle smile, Ada replied, “It doesn’t mean I wasn’t on yours too.”

That felt harder to swallow, however true it might be, but thankfully, Pippa did not have to come up with a response. Her deputy was waving for her attention. It was time to begin, and with a nod, Pippa made her way over to the elevated podium.

As she greeted gathered students and families, Mildred’s beaming face popping up at her from the crowd with a giddy shrug as she bumped shoulders with her newfound friends from camp, Pippa felt a sense of calm wash over her. Mildred was squeezing in between Enid and Maud, slinging arms around their shoulders, before sending a shy glance to an equally pink-tinged Felicity, who sat beside Ethel, her foot nervously tapping away, and a cheerfully unperturbed Sapphire. Names and faces were slotting together now from all her daughters’ stories over the summer, and there stood Hecate, her tall frame unmistakable even in this sea of witches and wizards, smiling back at her. As their eyes met, Hecate’s lips mouthed a wordless apology, but Pippa did not care if Hecate was late. She was here, and that was all that mattered.

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It had been a long day, Hecate thought to herself. Selection Day was finally behind them with Mildred and Ethel both formally offered places at Pentangle’s Academy for the upcoming fall class. Hecate and Pippa were strolling through the castle, enjoying a few quiet moments to themselves after their girls had gone to bed. By now, Ethel was snuggling into her new room, imagining all its possibilities. Pippa and Ethel had excitedly deliberated over furniture and colors for the walls after dinner, and Mildred was likely under the covers, tapping away on her maglet to Felicity. She and Pippa would need to set some ground rules for maglets after lights out in the future. There was no denying that their girls were growing up before their very eyes. But not tonight. Tonight, Hecate was feeling rather sentimental and in no mood to temper the flights of young love. Not that Mildred fancied herself in love, thank the goddess. She was very firmly in like, and Hecate fondly remembered the blushing cheeks and racing hearts of her own youth.

“Can I show you something?” Pippa murmured beside her, and Hecate felt her pulse jump at the brush of Pippa’s breath against her ear. Perhaps those days were not quite so far behind her as she thought.

Pippa led the way to a room of the castle that Hecate had heretofore avoided. Lush flowers sprouted from pots. The familiar scent of rich soil and the vibrant splashes of floral color announced their arrival at the greenhouse. Pippa guided her along a row of fragrant herbs, and she ducked beneath tendrils hanging from the ceiling until they reached a small patch of familiar star-shaped petals, golden centers peeking out amidst pale shades of periwinkle and bold purples. Memories of Pippa scouring the woods to present her with fresh bouquets of the pink and blue flowers swam to mind.

“Forget-me-nots?” Hecate asked. While the rest of the conservatory burst with life, its keeper clearly intent on imitating nature through the organic interplay of diverse flora, this tucked away corner of the greenhouse had been carefully set apart, and she could feel Pippa’s magic interweaving their delicate stems.

“Yes,” Pippa acknowledged with a soft smile, “but also this.” Gently pushing aside a particularly dense section of forget-me-nots, she revealed a cast bronze plaque embedded into the stone wall. Engraved on the commemorative plaque were the words, “Pentangle’s Academy. Founded by Pippa and Hecate Pentangle, 2012.”

Hecate felt her eyes brim with tears.

“I know you have your beautiful cottage, and I know we haven’t figured out the distance yet. But I just wanted you to know that you will always have a place here,” Pippa said tremblingly. Leaning into Hecate’s side, she whispered, “Welcome home, Hecate. We did it.”

And she knew Pippa was speaking of more than the building, more than the school or the apartment but all that they had once yearned for. The concept of family had often eluded her, the family of her childhood snatched cruelly away, and from then on, it had been almost sprite-like in its teasing appearance as it gifted her precious glimmers. Where Dayo had reminded Hecate of her resilience, where she had been and how much she had overcome, Ada had shown her unconditional acceptance, embracing her with all her sharp edges, even when her skin had felt bloody and scratched raw. Ethel and Mildred had blessed her with hope from the very beginning, their adoration and need superseding her own doubts and fears. And then there had been Pippa. Pippa, who had cherished her. Pippa, who had dreamed with her until she could believe in something more. Held in Pippa’s steadfast arms, a loving kiss pressed to her lips, Hecate allowed herself to cry tears of joy. She was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you, who have been with me on this journey! I think this is the longest story I have written in a long time, maybe ever, and knowing that people were reading, your kudoses and comments, truly kept me going when it felt so much easier to let this story languish in the midst of this upending, sometimes unrelenting, and still unpredictable year. 
> 
> I hope I did this family justice and would love to hear what you all think!
> 
> I have a few more slightly darker, angstier stories in the back of my mind but wanted to leave the Hardbroom-Pentangle family in a lighter and happier world of earned change and reconciliation :)


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